


Gravesen

by Tor_Raptor



Series: The Gravesen Chronicles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate backstories, Angst, Anxiety, Cancer, Domestic Avengers, Eating Disorders, Epilepsy, Fluff, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Avengers, Medical Procedures, Medical Realism, Mental Illness, Mentions of Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Seizures, Surgery, Teen Avengers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, cystic fibrosis, major character illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 117,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_Raptor/pseuds/Tor_Raptor
Summary: No high-tech suits, no super-soldier serums, no radioactive super powers of any wavelength. Just a bunch of ordinary kids fighting a not-so-ordinary battle.Here at Gravesen Hospital, they don’t fight hoards of aliens, other-dimensional monsters, or mad purple Titans. Here, they fight cancer, cystic fibrosis, heart failure, and even their own minds. This is the fight of their lives.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: The Gravesen Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925263
Comments: 799
Kudos: 568





	1. Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a long time coming and I am _beyond_ excited to finally share it. I forced myself to finish it entirely before posting so I can ensure I keep a regular update schedule for y'all. Here, I am returning to my roots in writing medical realism for what I consider my best work to date. It is certainly the longest piece I've ever written by myself and I already have several companion pieces in the works. Updates will be twice a week, although I'll probably throw in the occasional bonus update because I know as a reader that waiting for new chapters of a great story is so HARD sometimes.
> 
> Enough of my drivel; go ahead and enjoy the young Avengers hospital AU that nobody asked for yet I wrote anyway :)

Gravesen Hospital was supposed to be one of the best in the country. He should probably be grateful that he had the privilege to be treated here by such renowned doctors. But he could be at the finest medical facility in the universe and he'd still hate it. No sixteen-year-old could ever rejoice at the prospect of living out the foreseeable future in a hospital.

Well, it's not like he had a choice when his own heart couldn't even do its only damn job. Some mix-up in his genetic code resulted in wacky cardiac muscle cells—thanks Mom and Dad. He'd managed to stay outpatient for a bit by adhering strictly to his medication and lifestyle regimen. But regular exercise and a low-sodium diet could only get him so far when his heart was determined to retire early. And now his heart's rhythms were apparently chaotic and unpredictable enough to necessitate him being in close proximity to a resuscitation team at all hours, hence the admittance to Gravesen.

His mom was a wreck, absolutely terrified that this was the beginning of a pitifully short road to the end of his life. But he couldn't find it in himself to contemplate the possibility of death when his primary concern was uprooting his life at home and settling here in this ridiculously sterile environment filled with sick strangers. Once he knew where he stood among his peers here, maybe then he could worry about not living to see adulthood.

A nurse who introduced himself as Happy—stupid name, right? Must be a nickname, no way would a parent legally name their child after an impermanent emotion—showed him into what would be his room for God-knows-how-long. It was despairingly plain, as hospital rooms were wont to be. Luckily, he brought enough from home to make it feel less like it belonged to nobody and more like it actually belonged to him. His parents helped him unpack, and he completed the decor by lining his stuffed animals up neatly at the foot of the bed (yes, he had stuffed animals, go ahead and laugh) and slapping an AC/DC poster up on the wall. He dusted his hands together in finality and sat down on the bed—he was short of breath from light housework for God's sake! His mom hugged him goodbye, promising to come back tonight after work to check on his progress adjusting. He watched her and Dad leave with a sad detachment, wondering what sort of news he'd have to share with them when they eventually returned.

He fidgeted with the patient identification bracelet around his wrist and lost himself in his thoughts. Another nurse, this one called Peggy, entered shortly after his parents left to hook him up to the heart monitor that would become his constant companion. He took off his T-shirt and stoically allowed her to place the familiar electrodes across his chest. Though part of him hated the inconvenience, he couldn't help but appreciate that people would be notified immediately if his rhythm fell out of whack—more out of whack than his norm of 'pretty damn whack.' He didn't fidget, but sensed that Peggy was the type who would scold him for that and glare at him until he cooperated. He hoped there was at least one fun nurse here; if he spent his days with only Happy and Peggy he might get to add depression to his list of ailments.

She left promptly upon finishing her duty, leaving him once again alone with his roiling emotions. He wondered what life would be like here, as a permanent resident in a hospital and not just someone passing through until they get better. Most people came in here sick, started getting treatment for whatever-it-was, and started to get better. Some days they'd regress a little and get worse, but a team of doctors would fight back and get them moving in the right direction again. But he couldn't get better here. There was no medicine or simple in-and-out operation they could do to fix his failing heart. He was here to make sure he didn't die before his only chance of long-term survival arrived in a starkly labeled cooler. A new heart was his only way out. Too bad they didn't sell those at the hospital gift shop.

He sighed, considering taking a nap, but was roused from his thoughts by a knock on the door. "Come in," he directed, assuming it would be another nurse here to check his blood pressure or some other random routine thing. But he was surprised to find another boy about his age standing in the doorway. Was this the previous occupant of this room, here to wish him luck in his stay here? Or some hired "youth interpreter" in charge of showing people his age the ropes so that an adults wouldn't have to cope with attitude or hormonal moodiness? He considered both of these possibilities, but the oxygen cannula draped across his face and the IV pole he held beside him suggested the visitor was merely another patient here.

"I'm Steve," he introduced. "Steve Rogers."

"What are you doing here?"

"Peggy told me there was a new arrival. I thought I'd show you around and introduce you to people."

"What people?"

"The other patients here. You're not the only one confined to this hospital for the foreseeable future, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Of course there were other sick kids here, seeing as this was the pediatric residential ward of a major hospital.

"You want a tour?" Steve asked hesitantly.

"What the hell, I got nothing better to do." He followed Steve out the door and down the hallway, passing many other rooms on their way.

"I'll tell you whose room is whose on the way back; you'll probably remember better if you meet them first."

"Okay."

They crossed the entire ward, through the central nurses' station where Happy, Peggy, and some others he hadn't met yet were studying charts or talking to one another. If multiple nurses were there instead of attending to patients, it must be a slow day. Steve started their tour in a classroom, with a chalkboard—seriously, not even a whiteboard, was this the nineteen hundreds?—and tables lined up neatly in rows. It was decorated exactly like the stereotypical classrooms in movies, complete with a globe in the corner and a large bookshelf of unnecessarily thick tomes.

"This is where we do school," Steve explained. "I don't know what sort of curriculum you were doing at your school before you came here, but we just do basic stuff. Mostly English and history. They alternate classes between our age and the younger kids. The schedule's pretty irregular and enforcing attendance is impossible in a place like this, but doing something as normal as school is actually really nice."

"Cool." He didn't know what else to say. Of course attendance enforcement would be impossible. Could his teacher hold it against him if he skipped class because his stupid heart quivered itself into stopping for a bit? Did they expect him to return to class the next day with a doctor's note and an apology for missing? He chuckled to himself at the prospect.

"There's a kitchen around here," Steve continued. "We don't really use it that often because we get meals delivered to our rooms anyways and cooking requires energy most of us don't have to spare. Also, some of us don't always eat real food for one reason or another."

"You keep saying 'we' and 'us,' but I've yet to see another person who doesn't work here."

"I think they're all watching TV or something in the common room, but that's our next stop," Steve said. He started back in the direction they'd come, but turned down a different hallway. It ended in a large, comfortable-looking room filled with brightly colored couches and armchairs. The television, a large flat screen on the opposite wall, was not on, but four kids sat around a table, intensely focused on a hexagonal board littered with tiny houses. Steve headed straight for the game board. He followed, eager to meet these new people, but also dreading it.

"Hey guys, who's winning?" Steve asked.

"Quill has the most victory points at the moment, but Natasha is one turn away from taking Longest Road away from him," a boy about their own age explained. He watched the solid black face mask the boy wore move slightly as he spoke. Cancer, he could tell. It wasn't hard to figure it out given the boy's bald head and the mask indicating a possible compromised immune system.

"How do you know I am planning to take Longest Road?" a young girl with a thick Russian accent asked.

"Because you always do that when we play this game. You set up two long roads that are shorter than another player's longest, but then you connect them with a final piece and make a wall that covers the whole island."

"Sorry Bucky, but you misjudge my strategy today," Natasha said mischievously. It was her turn, so she rolled the dice and everyone took cards from the five decks beside the board. She stared at the cards in her hand for ten seconds before slamming down a card labeled 'knight' and snagging a piece of cardboard labeled 'Largest Army.' Then, she threw down five cards, two of which had wheat and three of which had rocks on them. She replaced one of her small houses with a big one and proclaimed her victory.

"You tricked us!" a tall, blonde boy complained. Probably not cancer, seeing as he had a full head of hair that cascaded even past his shoulders. Then again, not all cancer treatments caused hair loss. He studied every member of the group, unable to keep himself from guessing their illnesses. It was one of the only mentally stimulating activities one could partake in, although he figured learning the rules of this game in front of them would probably count. It seemed just complicated enough to be interesting.

"I did not trick you," Natasha insisted. "You thought I did one thing, and I did another. Not my fault."

"That still counts as tricking!

"Hey, calm down," Bucky suggested. "You shouldn't get upset, it might—"

They never heard what it might do, because the blonde boy's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor with a mighty thump.

"Shit!" Steve proclaimed, rushing to his side and crouching down. "Quill, grab that pillow." The boy nodded curtly and tossed Steve a throw pillow from the nearest couch. Steve caught it expertly and gently eased in under the boy's head. Not a moment too soon, because he immediately started convulsing. The pillow prevented his head from bashing against the floor, but nothing stopped the rest of his limbs from hitting the ground seemingly as hard as possible.

"Bucky, go get one of the nurses, tell them Thor's seizing again." So that was the boy's name: Thor. Bucky stood up and started for the hall, but he didn't even make it to the doorway when a nurse walked in. He was very tall with a black beard and thick dreadlocks. His eyes were such a light amber-brown they almost looked like they were made of solid gold. He crouched down across from Steve, watching Thor's thrashing gradually slow and finally stop. Together, they rolled him to his side and waited.

"Thanks Heimdall," Steve said.

"You're welcome. Good thinking with the pillow; a few days ago he hit his head so hard he sliced his scalp open."

"Should we get him back to his room?" Natasha asked meekly. She seemed somewhat guilty for having possibly caused this.

"How long did it last?"

"Only three minutes or so," Quill replied.

"Leave him here until he wakes up, and then ask him where he wants to sleep it off," Heimdall instructed kindly. Sleep it off? A seizure seemed like a pretty dire medical emergency that constituted more than just 'sleeping it off.'

"That's it? He has a seizure, and nobody does anything beyond make sure he doesn't hit his head?" he asked, shocked.

"Thor has severe epilepsy. He seizes pretty much every day, sometimes multiple times a day," Steve explained.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Of course it's dangerous; that's why he's here. They're weaning him off of his old anticonvulsants because they weren't working, and then they'll attempt an experimental new drug to see if it helps him."

"I certainly hope it does. Every time I see him seize, I feel like I need a session with the Falcon," Bucky remarked.

"Who's the Falcon?"

"Dr. Wilson, he's the head of psychiatry. We call him the Falcon because of how sharply he stares at you when you have a session with him," Steve explained.

"Do you guys have nicknames for all the doctors here?"

"Almost all of them. The chief cardiologist we call the War Machine."

He gulped. He hadn't met the cardiologist in charge here yet, even though he'd be the one primarily in charge of his own health. But it didn't bode well that his primary caregiver had such a belligerent nickname. "Why is he called that?" he asked nervously.

"None of his patients leave hospital alive," Natasha said. He felt his heart skip a beat—literally, it did that all the time now, this wasn't that figurative beat-skipping that heroes in novels always describe—and wondered if the staff would get to him in time if he suffered a fear-induced cardiac arrest right here and right now. All the people in this room hadn't been trained to deal with his heart the way they clearly knew how to deal with Thor's epilepsy.

"Don't do that, Nat, you're scaring him," Steve chided.

"She's just messing with you. The name is purely ironic," Bucky explained. "He's the sweetest man you'll ever meet. Never has a bad word to say about anything or anybody."

"Oh. That's a relief."

"Anyone else whose name I need to know?"

"That nurse who just came in here? Heimdall? I'm telling you right now, you will not get away with any shenanigans while he's on duty. The man somehow sees everything no matter what room he's in or where you are," Bucky informed him.

"But if you make puppy dog eyes at him after he catches you, sometimes he'll let you off," a new voice—a young, pre-pubescent male voice—said. He turned to glance at the new arrival and had to stifle a wince. The boy looked like the human version of the abused, malnourished dogs on the ASPCA advertisements with the sad music in the background. He failed to imagine how this boy was even up and walking on legs seemingly as thin as a spider's. He looked closely at the boy's unimaginably thin wrist, noticing that his hospital bracelet had to be wrapped around twice just to be tight enough.

"That might work for you, Parker, but some of us have lost the innocent charm of being eight years old," Bucky growled.

"I'm thirteen!" the boy, evidently called Parker, countered.

"Prove it."

"My date of birth is in the database of this hospital, ask anyone who works here to check it. There's your proof."

"Still not buying it," Bucky said. Parker sighed dramatically and flopped down on the couch nearest the group. His eyes fell on Thor's still-sleeping form on the floor.

"He seize?"

"Yeah. Natasha upset him by winning at Catan."

"You guys played without me!"

"We can't wait for you every single time," Quill said. "Sometimes we get bored when you're in session."

In session. Parker must be another psych patient, then. Most likely an eating disorder, given his appearance. Parker's eyes met his, and he asked, "Who's the new guy?"

"This is…" Steve began. He and Steve realized simultaneously that their earlier name exchange had been one-sided.

"Tony Stark," he finished.


	2. The Drawing Wall

Steve continued the tour after they said goodbye to all the kids in the common room. "Is that everyone?" Tony asked.

"No."

"This must be a crowded hospital."

"Well, it is a pretty good one."

"I certainly hope so."

They reentered the hallway with all the rooms. Tony knew which led to his own, but he had no idea who any of his neighbors were. The first door of the hallway was labeled 1216, and Steve told him it belonged to Bucky.

"What's with the numbering system? We're not on the twelfth floor, so why is it 1216?" Tony asked.

"Nobody knows. But the numbers start at 1216 and just go up from there. 1217, across from Bucky, is me."

"Can I see your room?" Tony asked. He wondered how personalized the other patients' rooms were, if his own level of decoration was stark or excessive. Steve nodded and opened the door, ushering Tony in. The first thing he noticed was that the walls were littered with doodles and sketches. Dozens of notebook sheets were tacked up on every bare surface. Tony walked up to the wall to get a closer look and marveled at the artistry.

"Did you draw these?" he asked.

Steve nodded. "I like to draw," he said with a shrug.

"You're very good at it."

"Thank you."

He found at least one sketch of everyone he'd met in the common room, but he could recognize them only from their face. Steve had drawn them in a light that erased any sign of sickness. He depicted Bucky with silky, shoulder-length brown hair and a well-groomed beard, with no face mask to obscure his smile. Thor he drew behind the wheel of a sports car, his hair flowing in the wind. Epileptics couldn't drive, Tony reminded himself. There was always the chance they could seize at the wheel and cause a terrible accident.

He spotted little Natasha, drawn leaping through the air in ballet shoes, though she didn't look much different on paper than in person. As a matter of fact, their earlier interaction had given him minimal clues as to why she was in the hospital. Identifying Quill took him a little longer, because Steve had drawn him as an old man, chilling in a rocking chair with his earbuds in. Once again, Tony realized he didn't even know why the boy was sick. The sketch of Parker nearly brought Tony to tears. Steve had filled him out, added muscle tone where in real life there was nothing but skin-coated bone.

Several more faces decorated the walls, faces Tony didn't recognize but suspected were the rest of the neighbors he hadn't met yet. He wondered if his face would eventually be added to this collage of un-sick children. Steve sat down on his bed, atop a fuzzy US flag blanket. "These are magnificent," Tony said, gesturing to the drawings. "I love how you showed everyone."

"Thank you. I just…want to picture them as they're supposed to be. After creating those drawings, when I look at them in real life I can see more than just sick people."

"What do you see when you look at me?" Tony asked out of curiosity.

"I see that you're afraid. You're afraid of spending the rest of your life here," Steve said solemnly.

Tony shivered at the accuracy of that observation. He wanted to leave here eventually, but had no way of knowing if or when that would ever happen. Desperately needing to change the subject, he continued his observation of the room. The one section of wall that wasn't covered in drawings had one of those Uncle Sam "I want you" posters on it.

"You have family in the army?" Tony asked, gesturing to the poster.

"Nah. I just admire the idea of volunteering your life to serve your country. If I wasn't sick, I probably would have enlisted right out of high school. As is, standing in front of the poster's pointer finger is as close to being recruited as I'll ever get," Steve chuckled.

"Me too," Tony admitted. His gaze fell on what looked like a life jacket with a remote control and he asked Steve what it was.

"It's a vibrator," he answered.

"What the fuck?!"

"That gets people every time," Steve said with a smirk. "It's a vest that vibrates. It's actually kinda gross what it's for; it helps me bring up mucus."

"And you need help with that because…?" Tony questioned. It was a way of asking-without-really-asking what disease he suffered from.

"Cystic fibrosis. I make a shit ton more mucus than I could ever need, so it clogs everything up. After fifteen years like that, my lungs are kinda starting to give up the ghost. And to make matters worse, I somehow ended up with really bad asthma too. In case you're wondering why this room is always so pristinely clean, it's because dust could quite literally kill me."

"Sounds like a fun time."

"You?"

"Faulty ticker," he responded, tapping a fist to his chest. "Some inherent defect that's only worsening with time. I'm here in order to survive long enough to get a new one."

"A new heart?"

"Yep. Will you eventually get new lungs?"

"Maybe. At this point, I'm not quite sick enough. I'm here for what we call a 'tune-up' and IV antibiotics. Gonna kick this infection before it kicks me."

"Sounds like it sucks."

"Well, I highly doubt you're going to make any friends in here whose lives you can be jealous of."

"Can't argue with that."

"Shall we continue the tour?"

"Sure."

Steve led them out and down the hall to the next room. 1218 housed a boy called Bruce Banner, who Steve said was here following his second suicide attempt. Currently, the doctors had him on such a high dose of medication that he was more ghost than person. They were working on weaning him down to find the balance between being a functional human being and still treating his depression and anxiety. For once, Tony felt grateful for his situation. At least it was his body and not his mind that was betraying him.

Across from Bruce was Tony's own room, so they moved on to 1220, Quill's. "Why do you call him Quill?" Tony asked. It seemed like a strange name and he had no reason to believe he was nicknamed after a porcupine.

"It's his last name. Him and Parker are both named Peter, so we just call them their last names."

"Two Peters in one ward. It's a small world," Tony remarked. "Are you gonna tell me there's another Tony two doors down?"

"Thankfully, no."

Steve skipped over 1221 and 1222, as they were currently vacant. "Hope it stays that way," Steve remarked. Neither of them wanted any other kids to be sick enough to join them here. 1223 was Thor's room. When they left the common room, he'd begun to stir but evidently hadn't requested to be moved to his bed here. He'd probably fallen asleep on the common room couch.

The next four rooms, Steve merely pointed out who lived there. Tony didn't ask why each of them were here, and Steve didn't offer. He surmised that all of these residents were on the younger side and Steve didn't think it was his place to tell Tony all about them. He knew they'd rather explain themselves than have their stories relayed to the newcomer through Steve. Tony would learn about them in time. It was pretty hard not to learn these things when they lived together.

"So, who put you in charge of initiating the newbies?"

"I suppose I did. I've been coming here my whole life, so I suppose I know it the best. And I like showing people the ropes, helping them realize that life here doesn't have to be complete shit."

"You all gotta teach me that board game at some point."

"Catan? I'm warning you, things get really intense when we play that game. It's been banned on several occasions, but we always manage to convince them to give it back. It's nearly impossible for them to maintain any punishment for sick kids."

"Where I come from, people fear playing board games with me."

"Yeah, that status is gonna be hard to maintain here. Thor and Natasha are super competitive, and Nick will cuss you out for a solid three turns if you make a move he doesn't like."

"Now that's my kinda party," Tony said excitedly. He'd never had a friend group to play games or hang out with consistently, and though he hated to be here, he had to admit he liked the idea of having people he could talk to in such close proximity all the time.

They wandered throughout the hospital for a while, Steve showing him the offices of all the important doctors that worked here. All of the office doors were the same dark wood with a basic plaque containing the doctor's name and position. "That's Dr. Wilson's office, he's the Head of Psychiatry, as I mentioned. Pretty much everyone here sees him at one point or another because no matter what part of your body is failing, your mind suffers as well." They also passed Dr. James Rhodes of cardiology, Dr. Virginia Potts of oncology, Dr. Abraham Erskine of pulmonology, Dr. Eric Selvig of gastroenterology, the Chief of Surgery Dr. Phil Coulson, Dr. Hank Pym of physical therapy, eating disorder specialist Dr. Hope van Dyne, and Dr. Wong of neurology.

"Why isn't his first name on the plaque?" Tony asked regarding Dr. Wong. All the other offices were adorned with the first and last name.

"We're not sure he has one. Even his lab coat is embroidered with only "Wong,"" Steve explained.

"Doesn't that cause legal trouble, not having a first name? How does he fill out paperwork?"

"We don't know. I'm sure he figured it out, seeing as he's a world-renowned neurologist."

Tony shrugged and allowed them to move on. There were stranger things than a man without a first name. Steve led him to one final location; the chemo clinic. He said that Tony ought to know where it was since a good-sized portion of their neighbors spent rather a lot of time here. Tony was glad it wasn't a part of his treatment regimen. The only thing that ever flowed through his IVs was saline and beta blockers. And of course the occasional shot of epinephrine when his heart was actively trying to kill him.

"Hello Steve!" a new voice greeted from behind them. An older man with a white mustache and aviator sunglasses approached them from behind. Steve and Tony turned around to face him, and he glanced at Tony with a slight air of familiarity. "Are you Tony Stank?" he asked semi-confidently. Steve choked on a giggle. Tony didn't quite know what to think of this random person knowing even that much of his name.

"Stark," he corrected. "And you are?"

"Dr. Stan Lee, president of Gravesen Hospital. I apologize for mis-addressing you, but my memory doesn't serve me quite as well as it used to."

"That's alright, sir," Tony insisted with polite formality. His parents had trained his manners with the utmost care, to the point where addressing anyone older than himself as "sir" or "ma'am" came automatically to Tony.

"You two have a good day." With that, he hurried off down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

"Dr. Lee takes it upon himself to know every resident patient in his hospital," Steve explained. "Which is insane, given how frequently we come and go, but we all love him. He's great."

"That's good to hear." From what he knew, most hospital presidents are more concerned with the budget than with the health and happiness of individual patients.

"Well, that concludes our tour. Do you have any questions?" They'd arrived back on the pediatric residential ward, just outside their doors.

"When's dinner?" Tony asked sarcastically.

Steve chuckled. "If I don't see you again before tomorrow, have a good night. And seriously, if you ever need anything I'm right next door. Just don't ask me to run anywhere for you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

~0~

Tony's parents returned that evening after dinner, just as they said they would. His father especially was a man of his word, and together they were the most punctual people Tony knew. He, unfortunately, did not inherit this from them. He was the type to completely lose track of time focusing on whatever he was working on, to forget to drink enough water or even to eat if a project was fascinating enough. The only thing he never forgot—because his mother never let him forget—was his oral medications. One thing he recognized on that first day was that he was no longer in charge of his own medication schedule. The nurses had the ultimate power in determining what he took and when. It was a relief, knowing he had several people who wouldn't let something so important slip his mind.

"How was your first day?" his mother asked kindly.

"It was pretty good," Tony replied in traditional nonchalant teen fashion.

"Did you meet anyone new?"

"Yeah, a bunch of people. This guy Steve across the hall gave me a tour of the place and introduced me. Unfortunately, there are quite a few kids staying here."

"Well, at least you'll have company. I'd hate for you to be lonely."

"Yeah, me too. It seems they try to keep us busy. There's a classroom and we're expected to do school."

"Well, I think that's fantastic," his father said, gaze fixed firmly on the corner of the room instead of on Tony. "No reason not to keep up with your studies."

Well, maybe the fact he might not survive long enough to go to college, Tony thought. Or get a job. His current occupation was professional patient. It was a pretty crappy job, but at least it came with housing.

"How are you feeling?" his mother asked.

"No worse than usual. The atmosphere around here isn't quite as dismal as I thought it might be. But the nurses all seem like they run a tight ship. I was warned that one of them can practically see everything that goes on in this ward even if he's on the opposite side."

"Not that you were planning to misbehave," his father reminded him.

"Of course not. But it would be nice to have the option," he quipped with a smirk. His mother shook her head and ruffled his hair lovingly. Her gaze fell on the line of stuffed animals he'd set at the foot of the bed.

"You think they like it here?"

"I don't know. But I swear Jarvis gave Nurse Peggy the stinkeye," he said, gesturing to the worn brown teddy bear. Mom smiled, but his father shook his head. Tony knew he didn't approve of his teenage son keeping stuffed animals, but they reminded Tony of a time when he was healthier and surrendering them felt like one step towards surrendering to death. Furthermore, they were darn cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I give Tony stuffed animals as a reflection of my own enduring love for them despite the fact I'm almost certainly too old? Maybe.


	3. The Cast of Characters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter this week to keep the ball rolling through the exposition phase of this thing.

Tony woke up that first morning in the hospital and stared at the blank white ceiling. This would be his morning view every day. It was pretty un-exciting. Maybe he should stick a poster on the ceiling, or get some of those stupid neon green glow-in-the-dark star stickers. On second thought, maybe not. Definitely not. He wasn't eight years old.

He glanced at the clock: only eight in the morning. It was a weekday, so his body was accustomed to waking up early to go to school. It was kind of strange to not have to wake up and immediately get ready to leave. He yawned and tried to remember his schedule for today. They'd drawn blood upon his admittance to evaluate his kidneys and liver and whatnot, and also to begin the process of matching him to a donor. Apparently they needed to know all sorts of things about him to ensure the heart he eventually (hopefully) got didn't kill him. He recalled that this afternoon he was scheduled for left and right heart catheterization to map out his arteries and measure pressure or something. He didn't know enough about medicine to fully follow along with everything his doctors said, nor did he have the energy to do the research to obtain that level of knowledge. As long as he knew where he needed to be, when he'd be there, and whether or not he was allowed to eat breakfast, that was enough for him.

That still left the whole morning to kill. Tony headed for the common room to see if anyone else was up and about. He walked in and saw the television on some old cartoon, but for whatever reason the sound wasn't on. Maybe whoever was watching didn't want to disturb anyone still sleeping. Tony could just make out the top of a small bald head above the back of the couch.

"Good morning," he said neutrally. The head didn't so much as turn to look at him. Tony cocked his head, puzzled, and said again, a bit louder this time, "Good morning." Still nothing. Tony certainly wasn't the friendliest person in the world, but at least he responded when someone addressed him. Did this kid have something against newcomers? He walked closer so there would be absolutely no chance of his voice not carrying, and said, "Hey, buddy. Is there a reason you're ignoring me?"

The kid didn't even flinch. Slightly peeved at this point, Tony walked around the couch so he could stand in the kid's sightline and demand his attention. He managed few steps before the boy nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at Tony in shock, as if he had just materialized out of nowhere. "You scared me," the kid accused.

"I said good morning twice when I came in," he explained. Tony noticed that the boy stared at him intently while he spoke, as if trying to memorize every precise position of his mouth.

"I didn't hear you."

"What? I said it perfectly clearly. And then I stepped closer and asked why you were ignoring me."

"I couldn't hear you."

"What are you, deaf?"

"Bingo," the kid said dryly.

"Wait, really?" He nodded. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'm new here, in case you couldn't figure that out for yourself."

"I figured. Nice to know you assumed I was just being rude when I didn't answer you, instead of just not knowing you were even here."

"I'm sorry," Tony reiterated. "I've never met a deaf person before, so it didn't really cross my mind as a possible explanation."

"Well, now you have met one. I'm Clint."

"I'm Tony."

"So you're new here?" Tony noticed that Clint looked jealously at his dark brown hair as he asked this.

"Yep. Got admitted yesterday."

"Why?"

"At any given moment I could be mere seconds away from cardiac arrest," Tony explained. Clint's eyes widened in shock at the drama of his explanation.

"Wow. Sounds bad."

"Could be worse. Well, actually not by much. I need a new one, and they're still working on getting me on the list. It's a very exclusive club, and if the bouncer doesn't let you in soon enough you die." Tony regretted that summary just a little bit. Maybe club and bouncer analogies weren't appropriate for a kid who couldn't be more than ten years old.

"At least you don't have cancer," Clint pointed out.

"That's true. Do you?" He knew the answer to this question, but was curious to know what type.

"Yep. Neuroblastoma. I've had it since I was four."

"So you're an old pro at this, huh?"

"I guess so," Clint sighed sadly. Tony couldn't imagine enduring something so terrible for so many years.

"Was it the cancer that hurt your ears?" Tony asked.

"No. It was the medicine," he said nonchalantly. Tony had no idea chemo could affect your hearing, let alone destroy it completely. This poor kid. Could continued treatment take away another of his senses? "But it was trying to kill the cancer, so I can't be mad at it."

"That's a good way to look at it."

"Wanna watch Looney Tunes with me?"

"Sure." Tony didn't ask Clint to turn the volume on so he could listen to it. He decided to experience it just as Clint had been forced to, by reading the subtitles only. Fortunately, old Looney Tunes like this was mostly physical comedy and relied minimally on dialogue. Maybe that's why Clint enjoyed it.

Tony lost track of how many episodes they watched, but at some point Steve arrived and interrupted them. "I see you've met Clint," he remarked. Tony noticed that he didn't speak until he was in front of Clint so the kid could see him. "Why aren't you wearing your hearing aids?"

Clint only smiled mischievously.

"He has hearing aids?" Tony asked, befuddled. He didn't think they would be able to help someone who couldn't hear at all.

"Of course he does. How else would he ever hear anything?"

"He told me he was deaf."

Steve smirked and shook his head. Clint stood and ran out of the room, nearly bumping into another kid who was on his way in. "Stop telling people you're deaf!" the new kid called after Clint's fleeing form.

"Wait, so he's not?"

"Not quite," Steve explained. "Without his aids, his hearing is absolute trash, but it's not nonexistent. It's mostly high frequency sounds he has trouble with."

"Are you suggesting I have a high-pitched voice?"

"No," Steve insisted, clearly meaning yes.

"He can hear me," the new kid said. Tony looked at him, taking in his shiny bald head and the black eyepatch covering his left eye. His voice wasn't that deep—the boy was only around twelve or so—and it certainly wasn't deeper than Tony's. Clint must've been messing with him on purpose. "So this is the greenie," he remarked, eyeing Tony as if he was a cut of meat behind a steakhouse counter.

"That's him," Steve correlated.

"I'm Tony," he introduced.

"Nick," the kid responded. "To save you the trouble of asking, I'll just come out and say it: the eye's gone because it was cancerous, and the hair's gone because the other eye's now cancerous and we're trying to kill the cancer without taking it out and rendering me completely blind."

"…Okay," Tony said. He certainly hadn't expected such a blunt explanation. "I hope it works for you."

"I certainly hope so too, because being blind would mean missing the look on your stupid face right now."

"What look?"

"The look that says, 'Wow, I never thought I'd be thankful to have the issues I do, but everyone else's seem so much worse and suddenly I'm glad I'm this kind of sick.'"

Tony had to admit Nick had correctly diagnosed him. Self-pity was certainly a hard emotion to maintain when surrounded by so many other sick people. At least he wasn't in danger of losing his hearing or his sight. But hey, maybe when he reached the later stages of this waiting game everyone else would be glad they weren't him. On second thought, that was not an eventuality he was at all looking forward to.

~0~

On his way back to his room, Tony ran into another boy around his age that he hadn't yet met. The cast of characters around here was getting kinda difficult to keep track of. Maybe that's why Steve kept drawings of everyone up in his room; so he could remember them all. Tony could feel the palpable anxiety radiating off of this guy. So this must be Bruce, then.

"Oh hi," he greeted sheepishly.

"Hi. I'm Tony."

"Bruce."

"What are you up to?" Tony asked genuinely.

"Just taking a walk."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Uh…sure. Go ahead," he said, somewhat reluctantly.

Steve had described Bruce as currently more ghost than person, and now Tony understood just how accurate that description was. He walked with all the conviction of a background video game character programmed to wander aimlessly.

"So…" Tony scrambled for a conversation starter, but none seemed appropriate given their circumstances. He couldn't exactly ask the classic 'you come here often?' After an awkwardly long pause, he settled on, "Is there anything about this place a newcomer like me ought to know?"

"Nurse Happy is uptight when it comes to hospital security. If he gets suspicious, he won't hesitate to snatch you by the wrist and check your ID bracelet to make sure you're not an imposter or a clone."

"Seems reasonable."

"Dr. Wilson forgot his ID badge in his office one time and Happy wouldn't even let him onto the ward."

"Is he afraid of systematic infiltration or something?"

"Just paranoid, I guess. But everyone else says he's the best at getting IVs in, so they can't be annoyed with him."

"Who's the best at CPR?" he questioned jokingly. Although in all seriousness, that would be most useful to him.

"I don't know." Bruce shrugged. "Never seen them do it."

"Let's hope it stays that way."

"Yeah."

"Do you take a walk every morning?" Tony inquired.

Bruce nodded. "A highly regular routine is good for me."

"Probably good for all of us. I'm a long ways away from establishing anything even remotely routine."

"It doesn't take as long as you think it will, since the way things are run is already like clockwork."

"Makes sense."

Bruce pushed his glasses up farther on his nose and kept walking. By now, they'd made their way to another floor of the hospital and started heading towards a window looking into the NICU. Bruce stopped in front of the window and stared at the tiny babies within. Tony paused beside him, following his gaze. He was mesmerized by the idea that humans so small could even be alive. He glanced over at Bruce and noticed the slightest sparkle appear in his glassy eyes. Looking at these young children might be the only upside to Bruce's day, Tony surmised, the only light in his constantly dark world. They stood there and just watched in silence for fifteen minutes before Bruce turned and headed back the way they came.

"Thanks for letting me join you," Tony said politely when they reached Bruce's door. "I'm right across the hall if you ever need me." He gestured to his own door. Bruce nodded silently and disappeared into his room.

"It's his meditation time," Thor informed him, walking up from behind him. "After his walk he always does this."

"He mentioned having a regular schedule was good for him."

"It is. What are you doing today?" Thor asked, changing the subject entirely.

"Heart catheterization later," Tony informed him.

"Sounds fun."

"No, it really doesn't. You?"

"Probably going to seize and then take a nap, seeing as I haven't done that yet today," he said with a sarcastic huff.

"Can you feel them coming?" Tony asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Sometimes I get dizzy the few seconds beforehand. Other times it's just, 'boom,' and I'm out. I can always feel it after, though—it aches."

"I'll bet." The one he had witnessed certainly seemed like it would leave Thor sore for a while afterwards. Every muscle contracted with such force that it must feel equivalent to an intense workout.

"See you later."

"Bye." Thor headed off wherever he was going, and Tony headed back to his own room. He picked up a book from the small stack he and his mother had put together for him to bring. Possibly his favorite book of all time, this one had been a gift from his mother on his fifteenth birthday, before they even found out he was sick and possibly dying. The notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci had been compiled, translated, and the highlights published in book form. Tony had already read through it countless times, but he never got tired of marveling over the man's genius. Engineering was a subject he'd hoped to study further as he finished out high school and headed off to college, but this whole heart thing had certainly put a wrench in those plans.

He lost track of time reading the notebook and the next thing he knew Happy arrived to tell him it was time for his heart catheterization. Well, at least he was about to get this over with. "Have you been to the cath lab here before?" Happy asked. Tony shook his head. He'd been in cath labs, yes, but that hadn't been part of Steve's tour. He doubted it would feel very different; he wasn't experienced enough to tell at a glance how state-of-the-art a given piece of equipment was.

He knew it was required, but Tony still found it annoying having to answer dumb questions about when he was born or if he was allergic to shellfish. Couldn't they just look all that up in his records? Anyways, he sucked it up and just answered to expedite the process. He endured the squeeze of a blood pressure cuff and tried not to flinch at the sound of the Velcro ripping afterwards. For whatever reason, that sound was like nails on a chalkboard to him. "Which artery do you have to use?" he asked the new nurse whose name he didn't know. Happy, Heimdall, Peggy, and a few others he hadn't met yet were in charge of the pediatric residential ward in general; they didn't do system-specific procedures like this unless there was a critical shortage of nursing staff for whatever reason.

"Radial," she informed him. Tony sighed in relief. When he was first diagnosed, they did an electrophysiology study to identify the cause of his arrhythmia and figure out what to dose him up with to stop it. For that procedure, they'd used the femoral artery in his groin, and he'd had to lie flat for four hours afterwards. For someone as fidgety as Tony, it had been _hateful_. After announcing it to him, she numbed the site where the catheter would be inserted. Tony stared at the ceiling and tried not to focus on the sensation of her gloved hands on him. Even after so much practice, he still hated people touching him. He waited a relatively short while before the doctor—another one he didn't know—entered, explained everything in excruciating detail that he didn't really care about, and inserted the catheter.

Tony didn't feel anything, so didn't have to speak up to complain of any discomfort as they'd instructed him to do. A warm sensation did bloom in his chest when they injected the dye, but he didn't count it as discomfort. It only took about half an hour for them to get what they needed, and then they removed the catheter. The insertion site was wrapped up in a pressure bandage, and that was that, pretty much. As far as things that occurred in this hospital went, Tony considered himself relatively unscathed. He was taken back to his room and instructed to rest for at least two hours and refrain from heavy lifting for two days—like there was anything heavy around here to lift. What, did they think he was planning on refurnishing his room?

Happy came in to check on him a few minutes later. "Can I trust you?" he asked.

"Trust me to do what?" Tony asked. He considered their trust relationship as a nurse and patient to be pretty one-sided.

"To actually follow your post-procedural instructions. I've seen lots of kids try to jump ship before they're allowed."

"You can trust me. I set a timer on my phone; I won't go run my daily half marathon until after that."

"Very funny," the nurse said with an eyeroll. "I'll be back later."

"Thanks Happy."

He assumed it was Happy when a knock came at his door twenty minutes later, but he was surprised to find Parker in his doorway. "Hey Tony," he greeted. "Wanna come to the common room? A bunch of us are over there."

"Can't," he replied curtly. He brandished his bandaged wrist and briefly explained the heart catheterization. He picked up his phone to check his timer, and explained, "I've still got an hour and a half before I'm allowed to be up and about.

"Oh." Parker sounded legitimately dejected. Tony had only been here just over a day, it seemed unlikely that the other kids didn't know how to have a good time without him. Couldn't they just do whatever it was they did before he arrived here? Maybe Parker was sick of the old crew and looking forward to meeting someone new. "Are you in the group chat yet?"

"What group chat?"

"We have a group chat for everyone on the ward, so we can still communicate even if we're bedridden."

"Sounds like a worthwhile investment." Tony provided Parker his number, and together they added everyone to Tony's contacts list so he knew whose number was whose. But one nagging question tugged at Tony's mind and wouldn't relent until he got it answered. "What happens when someone leaves the ward…you know, one way or another?"

"If they get better, they leave the chat. We make a whole ceremony out of it. Leaving the group chat symbolizes leaving a world of illness. If they…leave the other way they usually stay until their phone number gets recycled or something," Parker explained.

"Are there currently any yet-to-be recycled numbers in the chat?"

"Just Carol. She got here before I did; she's actually the one who added me to the chat."

"How'd she…" Tony asked without finishing the question. He figured Parker didn't want to hear the word any more than he wanted to say it.

"She was waiting for a heart transplant."


	4. More Alcohol, Less Hand Sanitizer

Typically, Tony detested the first day of school. New schedule. New peers. New teachers. Telling people that yes, he was in fact the son of _the_ Howard Stark. God, if he had a nickel for every time he'd been asked that by some wide-eyed stranger, he'd be as rich as his famous father. In fact, the fellow Gravesen residents had surprised him by not asking about his parents. Howard Stark founded Stark Industries, the leading military weapons manufacturer in the country. Essentially, his products existed to ensure that the United States won World War III if things ever came to that. Sure, it was kind of cool, if you were interested in that sort of thing. But Tony preferred what he considered constructive engineering, as opposed to destructive.

He grew up constantly being told he would inherit the company when his father either died or retired—whichever came first. Knowing his father, it would be the former. But now, after all this shitty heart business, Tony figured his father might need an alternative heir. Maybe he'd get a little brother out of it. On second thought, probably not. After all, his parents' combined genes did not have an excellent track record for creating one of the most vital pieces of a baby. Tony pondered the odds of a hypothetical sibling having his same condition. In all likelihood, he'd never find out. He didn't foresee his parents deciding that another child would fix the line of succession issue. His father would probably just hand the company down to a younger, trusted colleague if Tony bit the dust.

He particularly dreaded this first day of school because of its uniqueness. Tony started school today, but everyone else here was used to it. First he was the new kid on the ward, and now he'd be the new kid in the classroom. He had no idea what he was expected to already know. Tony excelled in math and science, but he found most reading, notably the types of books assigned in an English class, boring. Steve had said they learned mostly English and history here. Well, at least Tony could look forward to the company.

He set off down the hallway, remembering the route Steve had shown him to reach the classroom. Steve, Bucky, Bruce, and Thor were already seated. They separated out the younger kids, who had class just as theirs ended. It was certainly the smallest class he'd ever called himself a part of. Tony slid into an empty seat next to Bruce.

"Hi," Bruce greeted robotically.

"Hey," Tony replied. He looked around Bruce to Steve and asked, "Where's Quill? Isn't he our age?"

"Headache," Steve explained. Tony didn't think that sufficed to explain Quill's absence, but then again, he still didn't know why the boy was here in the hospital. He'd figure it out soon enough, either from directly asking or from more clues such as missing school for a headache. At the front of the classroom, a bald-headed person had their back to the class, writing stuff on the chalkboard.

"Does the teacher have cancer too?" Tony whispered to Bruce.

"We don't think so."

"We can't decide if it's purely a stylistic choice or if it's a demonstration of commiseration for us cancer kids," Bucky added.

"Interesting. He have a name?"

"Again, we don't know," Steve said. "She never told us, just demanded we call her ma'am." Even more interesting, for a woman to shave her head, Tony thought.

"We call her the Ancient One outside of class," Bucky added. "Because she gives off that cranky old librarian vibe. We have no idea how old she actually is."

"Parker suspects she shaves her head because her hair's gray and she doesn't want to put in the effort of dying it," Thor said. If she'd heard any of their conversation despite their best efforts to whisper, the Ancient One didn't let on when she turned around from the chalkboard and started the class. She didn't single Tony out as a new student or make him introduce himself, fortunately. She just got right into it as if today was exactly like every other day. For her, it was, Tony supposed. Undoubtedly, she taught the day's lesson with no regard to the number or identity of the people in attendance. Especially in a hospital school, the list probably rotated frequently.

They spent an hour and a half learning about the Spanish Civil War. Tony had no idea if this was at all connected to previous lessons, or if they just covered topics at random to force as comprehensive an education as possible down these kids' throats before they potentially died. Tony thought it would be far more useful for them to cover subjects more relevant to their lives, like the anatomy of the cardiovascular system, the names and functions of all the drugs that got pumped into their veins, or the logistics of arranging a funeral. Maybe the people in charge of this education program figured that learning about their own illnesses would only scare them more, particularly the younger kids. Or maybe they didn't want them arguing with their doctors over a treatment course. If he put his mind to it, Tony could learn enough about cardiology to come up with an alternative to his current plan of waiting for some poor guy to die and give up his heart. He knew he could. But not from here. If he had access to his father's design labs, then yes, but as things stood, Tony was stuck here until he got a new heart or died—or possibly made it to eighteen and could sign himself out to go travel the world or whatever before he suffered a fatal cardiac arrest.

Their brains full of knowledge of Spanish history, the five of them left the classroom and headed to the common room, passing the younger kids on the way in for their turn learning from the Ancient One. Tony watched Clint, Natasha, Nick, and Parker trudge in and a feeling of despair overcame him. They should be laughing with friends at a real school, complaining about cafeteria food, bullies, and homework, not sitting in a secluded alcove of a hospital that called itself a classroom. None of them should be here, yet here they were.

Tony shook his head to clear it of such horrid thoughts and found a spot in a cushy chair in the common room. Bruce had returned to his own room, but Steve, Bucky, and Thor sat down with him.

"So, sonny, how was your first day at school?" Steve asked sarcastically.

"Sonny? What are you, ninety?" Bucky asked.

"Never. I'll be lucky if I make it to forty," Steve countered. "That's why I have to use the old geezer slang now." Tony was honestly unsurprised at the gallows humor. Laughter was the best medicine, they said, and what was more fun to laugh at than your own premature death? In their world, not much.

"At least you'll die knowing all about the Spanish Civil War," Thor remarked.

"I won't," Bucky said. "I lost the ability to retain new information before I even lost my hair. Chemo brain is a bitch."

"At least you'll have an excuse for failing the test," Thor said.

"Wait, we have tests?" Tony asked. If he'd known about this, then maybe he would've paid attention. Unexpected stress was particularly concerning for someone in his condition, and pop quizzes certainly counted as unexpected stress.

"No," Steve informed him. "They can't expect that much of us."

"That's a relief. For a second there I was worried I'd have to spend time studying."

"Don't worry, you certainly don't. Education standards in a place like this have to be…lenient. They can't exactly expect me to worry about remembering the names of famous historical figures when I'm busy hacking up mucus so I don't drown."

"It's one of the only priorities that the higher ups do have in the right order," Bucky commented.

"So there are plenty that they don't have in order?" Tony inquired.

"Of course. Bureaucracy is king here. You would think it should be helping people, but it's not. It's bureaucracy."

"Bucky, will you shut up about bureaucracy," Thor said. "He's just pissed because he read online that some insurances don't cover bone scans in people in remission."

"It's ridiculous. It was ruled not medically necessary, when it's pretty fucking necessary. How else are they going to find a potential relapse in that poor person?"

"Can we change the subject?" Steve asked.

"Please," added Tony. Being from his family, money concerns never crossed his mind. It should have occurred to him that for most other people, that could be an issue almost as crucial as the health problems themselves. "Is Quill okay? Steve said he wasn't in class because of a headache."

"About as okay as he can be, I suppose," Bucky said.

"I'm getting the sense that headache means more than just headache. I know it's not exactly my place to ask, but I can't help but wonder why each of us is here."

"We can tell you. It's not like anyone's illness is a big secret, most of us just prefer to be the ones to tell newbies about ourselves. It eliminates a lot of potential miscommunication," Steve explained.

"When I first arrived here, I was informed that Steve was here for sixty five roses," Thor told them. "I assumed that meant he'd eaten that many and the thorns had ripped up his guts from the inside." Steve laughed, but it turned into a hacking cough that made Tony's chest ache in sympathy.

"That's miscommunication at its finest," Bucky sighed.

"Sixty five roses is actually how they teach little kids to say cystic fibrosis," Steve said once he caught his breath back.

"I wish they had a cute saying for Ewing's sarcoma." Bucky crossed his arms and huffed his disapproval.

"You wings are coma," Thor suggested.

Steve shook his head. "Not quite as elegant."

"The disease or the saying? Because there is nothing elegant about you strapping on a life jacket and coughing up your lungs every day," Bucky drawled.

"You really want to go there?" Thor asked dangerously. "I think I win the prize for least elegant infirmity. When was the last time either of you passed out, fell over, and pissed yourself after dancing around for a few minutes?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is this how conversation normally goes around here? This seems a bit too personal…and just plain sad," Tony noted.

"We lead sad lives, Tony," Bucky said. "Welcome to Gravesen."

"There's a reason this hospital has Graves in its name," Steve added.

"It's where we're all destined to go," Thor concluded.

"That's horrible." Thoughts like that crossed Tony's mind all the time, but talking about them with other kids whose lives may or may not end prematurely was another thing entirely. "Do you guys ever talk about anything besides your inevitable demise?"

"Sure we do. Sometimes we talk about what the nurses and doctors are up to. Depending on how long you spend with each of them, you learn all sorts of things. And sometimes we talk about homework like normal kids. We didn't get any today, which was odd. Maybe it's because you're new."

"So we don't have tests, but we do have homework?"

"It's technically optional," Bucky began. "Well, actually no. Supposedly it's mandatory, but the Ancient One will accept pretty much any excuse. I mean, how can she not? Just don't skip it too often without a legitimate reason or she'll talk to all your doctors."

"He knows because he tried it," Steve informed him. "Rescue almost took him off of one of his chemo drugs because she thought the regimen was melting his brain."

"It was," Bucky retorted.

"The only thing melting your brain was watching Netflix for eight hours straight," Thor said.

"The new season of Riverdale was out and I wanted to make sure I watched it all in case I died."

"You watch Riverdale?" Tony questioned, shocked. Bucky did not seem like the type of guy to enjoy that.

"As a matter of fact I do. Let me guess, you watch nothing but nature documentaries and the occasional romantic comedy if a girl talks you into it?"

"What? No. Nature documentaries? Where'd you get that idea?"

"Parker told me you have stuffed animals."

"So?"

"I thought you liked animals."

"I do, but that doesn't mean I watch nothing but nature documentaries."

"Then what do you watch?"

"Not much. I'm more of a doer than a watcher."

"I'll bet he's a Star Wars nerd," Steve remarked.

"No!"

"Too bad, Parker would love to have a fellow nerd on the ward."

"I am not a nerd," Tony insisted. Maybe a tad too vehemently.

"Touchy subject, is it?" Thor asked.

"No."

"Maybe we should talk about something else," Steve suggested.

"Is there anything good on TV?" Bucky asked.

"You know the answer is no, but you're welcome to check," Steve said. Bucky snatched up the remote and switched on the TV. He flipped through a few channels before settling on the National Geographic Channel.

"Who's the nature documentary watcher now, huh?"

~0~

The younger kids joined them in the common room after their lesson ended, looking about as excited as kids who just got out of school should look. They probably learned something equally as boring.

"Well now it's a party," Tony commented on the nearly full room.

"How many parties have you been to?" Bucky asked sardonically. "There's usually more alcohol and fewer bottles of hospital-grade hand sanitizer at parties."

"Doesn't hand sanitizer have alcohol in it?" Nick asked.

"Not the kind you can drink," Steve assured him.

"Please tell me you haven't tried that," Tony said.

"No way!"

"Kidding. I know you'd never stoop to chugging hand sanitizer."

"That implies you know what I _would_ stoop to. We've only known each other for three days, Tony.

"True. In fact, I feel like I'm yet to be initiated into this club of yours."

"What club?" Thor questioned.

"I don't know. You all give me exclusive fraternity vibes or something. Am I going to be hazed?"

"No. We don't do that here."

"Then what's the uniting factor in the Gravesen residents?"

"Fighting Thanos," Clint answered.

"What? Who's that?"

"For the last time, Clint, it's _Thanatos_ ," Bucky chided.

"Wait, we have to fight people? What kind of a hellhole is this?"

"No, it's not like that. Thanatos is the Greek god of death."

"We fight death every day," Natasha contributed. "Metaphorically."

'Yeah. It just sounds cooler to say Thanatos," Nick explained.

"I think it sounds cooler to shorten it to Thanos," Clint countered.

"That doesn't make any sense. Thanos doesn't even sound threatening," Thor said.

"You're just peeved we named it from Greek mythology and not Norse," Nick jabbed.

"Norse myths are far more interesting."

"How about the myth of a conversation not turning into an argument?" Steve suggested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun adapting canon events/characters/quotes throughout this story. The whole fighting Thanatos business is a prime example of that.


	5. Dog Days

After class the next day, Steve quickly disappeared into his room instead of hanging out with the rest of them. Quill had returned, looking a bit pale and tired from yesterday's 'headache' but otherwise okay, and Bucky had chemo that morning and wasn't feeling up to going to school. Tony almost wished he'd have an excuse to skip more often—the Ancient One's teaching style did not agree with his learning style at all.

"Steve, why are you jumping ship?" Tony asked just a hair before he managed to close the door behind him. Steve didn't answer.

"Today's a therapy dog day," Thor explained.

"And he's afraid of dogs?"

"No, just really allergic," Quill said. "Dogs, cats, and dust trigger his asthma. So he hides out on therapy dog days."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Are you allergic to dogs?" Thor asked.

"No."

"So you can come with us to go see them!"

"Sure. Where are they?"

"Sometimes they go door to door. But most of the time they do a circuit of all the wards. They time it so they come to our common room just as school ends for all of us," Quill explained.

"Which is in about an hour," Thor added.

"Sounds great."

~0~

They returned to their respective rooms and met in the common room just as the younger kids' school let out. Within minutes, the dogs arrived. Quill leapt to his feet with a grace Tony had never witnessed before, exclaiming "Rocket!" He strode over and knelt beside a gray husky-looking dog with black markings around its eyes that made it look almost exactly like a raccoon. The other dog was brown and slender like a greyhound or a whippet. Tony shyly approached and knelt down to stroke its elegant shoulders. The dog's tag read, "I am Groot."

"Hello Groot," Tony said quietly. The dog came closer and nestled itself as close to Tony's chest as possible, leaning into his embrace. The animal's weight was immensely comforting.

"I'm getting the sense you like therapy dog day," Thor remarked. He joined Tony in petting Groot, and the dog lay down, its tongue lolling out in bliss.

"Fair assumption. Seems like they enjoy their job as much as we do."

"Definitely. I would love to be a dog."

"Really? But you wouldn't really get to do anything."

"Exactly. I could spend every day doing nothing. That's a dream life right there."

"If you say so."

"I once saw this show about dogs eating things they're not supposed to," Thor began. "This man had a Saint Bernard with epilepsy, and he gave him his meds in a spoon of peanut butter every day. He let his friend dog sit one time and the friend didn't hold onto the spoon tightly enough. Long story short, the dog gets his meds in peanut butter on a bit of bread instead of a spoon now."

"The dog swallowed the entire spoon?" Tony asked, dumbfounded.

"Yep. Just slurped it down."

"Crazy."

"If I was a dog, I would be that kind of dog."

"A Saint Bernard?"

"No, the kind that eats with such gusto it swallows the silverware," Thor corrected with a laugh.

"Aren't some dogs trained to help people like you?" Tony asked once he too had quieted his laughter.

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard of people with epilepsy having dogs that can smell when they're about to seize and warn them so they can get somewhere safe."

"Oh, yeah. I've also heard about them."

"Have you or your family ever considered getting one to help you?"

"They're not as common in Norway as they are here. But the possibility has crossed my mind."

"You're from Norway?"

"Yes. My family is still there. They sent me here so I could be treated by Dr. Wong. He's the best in the business."

"How long has it been since you've seen them?" Tony asked. His parents planned to visit him two or three times a week. He couldn't imagine being shipped off to a foreign hospital without them.

"Oh, a while," Thor said vaguely.

"That's not very specific."

"Well, they're coming to visit soon."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"An older sister and a younger brother. Hela and Loki."

"How are they?"

"In general, or right now?"

"In general."

"Well, they have their moments. Hela does her own thing most of the time. She has our dog Fenris wrapped around her finger and spends more time with him than with any of us. And Loki…he's always getting into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"One time he found a snake in the yard and put it in my pillowcase."

"Gross!"

"No, I love snakes. It was a nice surprise. What wasn't nice, however, was him hiding under the bed while I held the snake to admire it and shaving my legs."

"He shaved your legs while you were preoccupied admiring a snake that he hid in your bed?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"That's ridiculous."

"He did a horrible job of it too, nicked me in three places. Mom was so upset _she_ nearly had a seizure. But then I did and she forgot all about being mad at Loki."

"Thor, I'm not gonna lie to you. I'm a little scared about him coming to visit."

"He'll behave himself here. Father would give him back if he made a scene in a hospital."

"Give him back to who?"

"He's adopted."

"Oh, you didn't mention that. How old were you when your family adopted him?"

"Too young to remember life without him."

"I've never had any siblings, or pets for that matter. My dad wanted a male heir for his business, and he got one on the first try. Well, at least he thought he did. He did get a male, but whether he'll last long enough to be an heir is now up in the air."

"Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?" Thor asked.

"I have no idea. Whether I'll last long enough to take over the family business is up in the air now."

"It certainly is with that attitude."

"What, realism?"

"It's the doctors' job to be realistic. It's your job as a kid to wholeheartedly believe that everything's going to be okay."

"That's actually pretty good advice."

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"I'm not surprised."

"Did you assume that my thoughts aren't as coherent as yours because my brain occasionally misfires?"

"No," Tony assured, afraid that he'd upset Thor. Last time he got upset, on Tony's first day here, he seized. Tony didn't want to be responsible for that.

"I'm kidding. Don't look so grim, you're petting a dog!"

Tony forced a smile and internally heaved a sigh of relief. He'd grown accustomed to being the sick person, watching other people tread on eggshells around him. Now, he was among others who suffered, many far worse than he did. He hadn't yet mastered the art of telling the difference between legitimate self-deprecation and a joke. Hopefully, the skill would come with more time spent with these guys.

"Hey guys!" Parker joined Thor and Tony in petting Groot. Despite having seen him several times already, Tony still marveled at the boy's gauntness. He really shouldn't—ideally he would see him like Steve's drawing—but it slashed at his fragile heart.

"Hey Parker," Thor replied. "How was class?"

"I didn't go; I had a session with Hope. But I was probably just as bored as the kids in school."

"What did you talk about today, if you don't mind my asking?" Thor said gently.

Parker shrugged. "A lot of the usual."

"Which is…" Tony prompted. He wanted to gain the same understanding of each other that everyone else here seemed to already possess. If he didn't know what was going on in their lives, he couldn't properly sympathize. Tony sensed that sympathy all around was a major factor in the friendship on the ward.

"Control, coping mechanisms, and calories," Parker listed. Definitely an eating disorder, Tony concluded. "Basically, I need a lot less of the first thing and a lot more of the other two."

"Well, I hope you achieve that," Tony said, hoping that he sounded encouraging and not patronizing.

"Thank you. It's just really hard." For the first time, Tony watched Parker release the innocence he wore every day and replace it with forlornness and dejection. There was definitely a lot of backstory there, and Tony hoped that Parker would someday trust him enough to share it. For now, all he could do was be there for him.

"All the important things in life are hard," Tony said. "If getting better was easy, nobody would ever be sick."

"And this good boy would be out of the job," Thor said, scratching Groot behind the ears.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Parker sighed.

"I get that a lot," Tony quipped. Parker's despondent sigh morphed into a smile, and Tony internally celebrated his first successful pep talk.

~0~

Once the dogs left to continue on to other wards, Natasha and Clint approached Tony and dragged him by the wrist after them. "Hey, where are we going?" Tony asked, planting his feet. Even together, they weren't big or strong enough to pull his entire weight along. Natasha released her grip and looked up at Tony pleadingly.

"We both have chemo now," Clint explained. Nat must also have cancer, then. Every minute Tony was learning more about his new peers. He figured her dark red hair must be a wig, or possibly her meds were the kind that didn't cause hair loss.

"And we want company," Natasha added.

"Don't you have each other's company?"

"It's tradition. Everyone on the ward sits through a chemo infusion even if it's not their own," Clint said.

"So I am getting hazed?"

"What does that mean?" Natasha questioned, now tugging at his wrist again.

"Nevermind. Show me the way and I'll join you," Tony relented, allowing himself to be half-dragged half-led back to the chemo clinic. He didn't particularly want to join them. The mere idea of chemotherapy unsettled him, and the prospect of watching it happen did not entice him in the least. But evidently if he wanted to become an integral member of this hospital pseudo-family he must first endure this. And how could he say no when Clint and Natasha had no choice?

They led him to the clinic, the entrance to which he recognized from Steve's tour, but continued to cross the threshold. The place bustled with several nurses Tony didn't recognize, likely oncology specialists, and they warmly greeted Clint and Natasha like old family friends. Tony stood awkwardly aside, not knowing what to do, while the nurses prepped his friends for the infusion.

"Why do you look so scared?" Clint teased.

Tony startled. He hadn't realized the obviousness of his discomfort. "You mean this isn't scary stuff?" Tony said, aiming for dad joke humor.

"No," Clint and Natasha insisted in unison. "Not anymore," Clint amended.

"So it used to be scary?"

"Only the first couple times. Then I got used to it," Clint described.

"Well I'm not used to watching yet," Tony said. "So yeah, it's a little scary because it's new to me."

"You want to hold my hand?" Natasha asked with a smirk.

"Sure, if that's okay with you." Tony sat in the armchair next to Natasha and she offered him her hand. The nurse smiled at him before turning back to Nat and revealing a patch of skin on her chest. Tony watched, Natasha's grip on his hand never faltering, as the nurse sanitized the area. Tony squeezed Natasha's hand, not the other way around, when he saw the needle. Nat didn't so much as flinch. The nurse stuck a clear dressing over and flushed the line before hooking it up to the bags of medication on the pole beside the chair. Natasha turned to Tony and wiggled her hand to try and escape his iron grip.

"Sorry," he blurted, releasing her.

"If it's that bad, you can leave," Clint said, sporting a line identical to Natasha's.

"No, I'm fine," Tony insisted.

"You look like someone failed multiple times to access your port."

"What does that mean?"

"They poked you and missed, so they poked you again. And again. But the nurses here are really good at it, they usually get it on the first try."

"That's good." Tony paused. "So, how long does this usually take?"

Clint answered nonchalantly, "A couple of hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't _not_ include the snake story from Thor Ragnarok somehow, but I had to dull it down because stabbing is somewhat more of a serious crime when the victim isn't a Norse god.
> 
> Also the story about the St. Bernard and the spoon is 100% true, I saw it on a show called "My Dog Ate What?"


	6. The Gauntlet

Over the next week, Tony's knowledge of his new friends' personalities and quirks grew exponentially. It was hard not to when he saw them almost every single day. Unless he sequestered himself in his room all day—a prospect so boring he never intended to do it if he had the energy to leave for any length of time—he encountered almost all of his hallmates at some point or another. The common room almost always had one or two residents hanging out in it, and most of them managed to attend school at least two of the four days a week it was scheduled.

Steve allotted half an hour each morning and half an hour in the afternoon to use his vibrating vest. Tony always vacated his room during those times. He could hear the coughing through the walls and it drove him insane. Not because the sound itself bothered him, but because he pitied Steve for having to do that to himself twice a day. The only person who ever entered the room during Steve's vest time was Bucky. Those two were as close as two friends could be, and Tony learned it was because they'd known each other since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood and attending the same schools. Bucky's cancer diagnosis only cemented their friendship even more because now he shared the experience of living at Gravesen after so many years of passing through to visit Steve during his many stints here.

Bruce wasn't kidding when he said a highly regular routine was good for him. The guy literally took his walk at the exact same time every day down to the second and followed the same route. He ate his meals at the exact same time too. It was almost freaky. He spent most of his time alone or with the Falcon, but was always friendly when he saw Tony. On a few more occasions, Bruce allowed Tony to accompany him on his daily walk, and Tony enjoyed the decompression time.

Natasha amazed him. She never complained about anything despite having some of the harshest treatment of anyone here—seriously, cancer did not mess around, particularly Nat's leukemia. Yet she spent all her energy ensuring everyone else's happiness. She listened to everything with a fervent intensity. Whether that was out of compassion or focus on comprehending English, Tony didn't know, but she always knew what to say to cheer people up. He also picked up on a particular mannerism of hers. Whenever something upsetting or scary happened—not an uncommon occurrence in a hospital—she started to shrink into herself and hunch over before immediately jerking back into impeccable posture.

Clint and Natasha were inseparable. And for someone who'd been fighting cancer nonstop for six years, the boy had an enviable amount of pep. Tony quickly adapted to first observe whether he was wearing his hearing aids before attempting to speak to him. Clint could lip read almost perfectly, so it wasn't difficult to talk to him as long as they were face to face.

Nick viewed everyone and everything with a cynicism that Tony expected would be typical of a kid with relapsed cancer at risk of losing his one remaining eye. He communicated with an eyebrow raise or a frown just as often as he used words. Tony respected him for it. He didn't take shit from anybody.

Tony learned the cause of Quill's school-excusing headaches just by asking him up front one day. A brain tumor. Apparently they ran in his family; his mom died of the same type of tumor when he was just nine years old. And not even a decade later he fell victim to the same enemy. Quill even showed Tony the barely-noticeable line of scar tissue running along his scalp beneath his hair from when they'd attempted to remove it. It worked as well as they'd expected it to, but he needed radiation treatments and oral chemotherapy to ensure it stayed away. On a lighter note, Tony learned about the guy's affinity for eighties music. Even with his earbuds in, everyone could easily tell what song he was listening to because he sang it. And he wasn't a great singer.

Thor's seizures grew less frightening as Tony spent more time with him. He learned pretty easily the protocol for helping him if he seized. Prioritize protecting his head from bashing into anything, and don't worry unless it continued beyond five minutes. But Tony also learned that not all of his seizures were so dramatic. Sometimes he seemingly spaced out for a few seconds before jumping right back in without noticing his own lapse. Thor explained these were absence seizures, a slightly different version of those that caused the full-body convulsions. Living here, Tony felt like he learned almost as much about disease as a full-time medical student.

Parker was the sweetest, most selfless kid Tony had ever met. One day after school, he invited Tony to see his room. The place was littered in Star Wars memorabilia. A LEGO Death Star was the centerpiece of his bedside table. It must have taken hours to assemble. Parker noticed Tony admiring it and said, "Ned and I built that together. It was a joint Christmas present."

"Is Ned your brother?" Tony asked.

"Not really. I don't have any biological siblings."

"Me neither. What do you mean by not really?"

Parker ignored his follow-up question and continued, "He let me have the Death Star when I got sent away, something for me to remember him by."

"Can't he ever come to visit?"

"Probably not. He got adopted by a couple that lives all the way in Arizona." The word adopted opened up an entirely new can of worms about Parker's past, but Tony didn't really know how to approach that subject. He didn't want to make undue assumptions about Parker's previous living situation and upset him. Fortunately, Parker noticed his confusion and explained. "We were assigned to the same foster family. That's how we met and became best friends. But then I got sent away, and only a little bit later he got adopted."

"I'm sorry," Tony sighed, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be. I'm happy for him."

"Do you at least get to text or call him?"

"Yeah. We talk almost every day. Well, mostly Ned talks. He always has lots of good news or funny stories, and I just…the things that happen to me every day aren't all that shareable or exciting."

"We manage to have fun, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess. But he's always asking about how I am. He doesn't know any of you, so he can't really get excited when you make good progress."

"Do you tell him the truth?"

"Of course. I can't lie to Ned. He just always looks so sad when I tell him nothing's changed."

"Well, why don't you think about that next time you talk to Hope or Falcon. Or next time you're faced with a decision regarding…all of that."

"Yeah. That might help. Thanks Tony."

"You're welcome. Thanks for showing me your room; it's way cooler than mine."

"Well, I've had a little longer to accumulate decorations," Parker said sheepishly.

"How long have you been here?" That was pretty much the first direct question about his condition that Tony had asked Parker. He was terrified of accidentally stumbling upon a trigger. The last thing he wanted was for Parker to hate him because of accidental insensitivity.

"Five months."

That seemed an awfully long time to Tony, yet Parker didn't look healthy enough to be five months into a treatment and therapy regimen. If that was the case, he wondered if the boy had somehow been more emaciated upon his initial admittance. The pity rising within him must have shown on his face because Parker smiled and assured him, "It's not that bad, being in here. It's really no much worse than foster care. Well, I didn't have people writing down everything I eat there, but it didn't take long to get used to."

He said it so nonchalantly, but Tony was taken aback. He'd known these sorts of things could become life-threatening, but he still stumbled over the evident complexity of Parker's case. "You really have people write it down?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "It goes in my chart just like everyone else's medicine dosages do. At the beginning, I kept my own food log, but they stopped letting me do that."

"Why?"

"I cheated."

"How do you cheat at a food log?"

"By writing things that didn't actually happen. Man, I invented so many sandwiches back then." Parker gazed wistfully up at the ceiling. Fortunately, he zoned out at the perfect time to miss Tony's muted gasp of shock. But Parker wasn't finished his narrative. He continued, "First they tried making me eat with supervision so someone could log it, but I told them having someone watch just made me more anxious. So then they switched to precisely measuring everything they gave me and looking at what I didn't eat to find the difference. But I figured that out pretty quickly and started cheating the system by hiding bites in napkins and stuff like that. They weren't too happy about that. Well, at first they were just confused because their calculations based on my food log didn't match my weight at all. Then they grilled me and I had to admit what I was doing. After that it seemed like they gave up, but I think they actually just planted a camera."

"Is that even legal?" Tony asked.

"I dunno. Probably. I doubt they'd stoop to breaking the law just to watch me eat."

"Why were you so determined to cheat the system?"

"I'm really not sure. Believe me when I say there's a lot going on up here," he twirled his finger beside his ear to indicate his head, "and I'll probably be the last person to understand it. But enough about me. Tony, tell me about you." Parker flopped down onto his bed and propped his chin up on his hands.

"What about me?"

"Something totally unrelated to your bad heart—wait, that came out wrong. I don't mean you're a bad person, just, you told me a while ago about them running tests so you could get a transplant. But I don't want to hear any more about that. Tell me about you. The real you."

Tony admired his use of 'real you' to describe the aspects of him unrelated to his illness. Too often, people let it completely define them. Yes, it was a part of him that affected almost everything about his life, but believe it or not there were other things that also defined him. "Let's see, I…uh, wanted to study engineering in college."

"That's cool. What kind?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure. Probably mechanical. Math and science have always been my favorite subjects."

"Me too. But I'm more of a biology person than an engineer."

"That's cool. I work better with metal than with people."

Parker giggled. "I don't think you're bad with people."

"Then you haven't seen me with metal."

"No, but I have seen you with your stuffed animals. I'm only thirteen and I outgrew those ages ago."

"Nobody is too old for a soft, plush version of cute animals. I don't know how I'd sleep at night without Jarvis, Dum-E, and Butterfingers."

"They have names? That's even worse!" Parker's giggles dissolved into breathless laughter. Tony was legitimately concerned the kid would break a rib.

"Fine, but next time the therapy dogs have to miss a day, guess who won't be allowed to hold a stuffed animal," Tony said indignantly. But Parker was too far gone. He'd reached that apex of laughter where it turned silent. Tony gave up and laughed with him.

After that interaction, Tony hoped he might observe some change in Parker's habits. He only ever saw the boy drink water, never eat anything. Tony saw the other residents occasionally snack between meals, especially the cancer kids with their strange chemo cravings, but never Parker.

~0~

One day Tony noticed a colorful poster on the wall of the common room that he hadn't thought to look at closely before. It was a chart with a bunch of names, each subdivided into six categories with an X in either the 'self' or 'Thanatos' column. The six categories were labeled and colored purple, blue, red, green, yellow, and orange. What the hell was this for?

"Looking at the gauntlet, huh?" Steve asked, peering over Tony's shoulder at the poster.

"The gauntlet?"

"Yeah. It basically means a series of trials and tribulations. Or an armored glove."

"Plus it sounds cool," Clint pointed out.

"Okay, but what does this chart mean?" Tony questioned.

"The way we look at it, there are six core aspects of a life," Thor explained. "A healthy person has control of all six."

"It's impossible for kids like us to have all six," Steve continued. "Some of them are wrested away the second we step through the hospital doors."

"But as long as we hold on to the one or two that we can, Thanatos can't win," said Clint.

"If he manages to get all six, it's over," Parker stated.

"What are the six?" Tony asked. He could read the labels on the chart, but they didn't make any sense. These guys managed to come up with so many extraneous ways of thinking about things; Tony didn't know where they found the creativity. Well, he supposed a long time spent in the hospital forced them to think a lot.

"Space," Nick led. "Is where you spend your time, the spaces you occupy. Obviously, Thanatos already has that one, since we're all stuck here in this place."

"Power is both mental and physical strength," Quill continued. "The power to lift a dumbbell, or the power to keep on chugging after receiving bad news or losing a friend. I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm functioning at less than optimal power after fighting for so long."

"Mind consists of all the thoughts you've ever had," Steve said. "Every time you think about death or about your illness, Thanatos gets that much closer to obtaining your mind. It also applies to mental illness, to having control of your thoughts and their dominion over your actions."

"Reality is a harsh one," Thor stated. "For someone who is sick for a short time, their illness ends with them returning to reality. We've been here so long that this is our reality, and going back to the way our lives were before is going to require an adjustment."

"Time is how you spend it, and how much of it you have left," Parker explained. "Nobody knows exactly how much longer their life will last, unless you're on death row, but most people get to decide how they spend their days. For the most part, we don't. Our time is dictated by the schedules of doctors, nurses, and specialists."

"And soul," Natasha concluded. "This one is complicated. It is who you are at your core. It is kindness, humanity, empathy. It is many other big words I do not know. This is hardest for Thanatos to obtain. One that most of us still hold on to. Do not let him get it."

"Wow, that's…fascinating. You guys have really thought this out, haven't you?" Tony questioned, mystified by their incredible ability to present these issues in different ways. He already knew he was closer physically and metaphorically to death than he'd ever been before, but he never paused to think about the things that the figurative Thanatos took leading up to his taking of a life.

"Sometimes it helps to see where we stand," Steve said. "To see what we still have to hold onto when everything else has been taken away."

Tony looked more closely at the gauntlet, observing everyone's aspects and whether they were marked under 'self' or 'Thanatos.' For almost everyone, Thanatos had everything except mind and soul. The only exceptions were Bruce, Parker, and Carol.

Bruce had time, but not mind. Parker had ceded every aspect to Thanatos except soul. And Carol…Thanatos had taken all of hers. Tony remembered from a conversation with Parker that Carol had died here, waiting for a heart exactly as Tony was now. He knew more children had died here before that, but this gauntlet must not have existed until Carol's time. He wondered how long it would continue to be amended, how many more names would be added to the bottom. His name was on the list, but all of his Xs were still under 'self.'

"We let people decide for themselves where their aspects lie," Parker explained. Tony looked back at his place on the chart and realized, by raw numbers, Parker was closer to death than any of them. Tony reached out and moved his Space, Power, Reality, and Time Xs to the 'Thanatos' column. The poster was high quality, the Xs laminated and attached to the board with strong Velcro. Whoever made it intended for this poster to last a long time.

"That's more accurate," Tony stated when he finished, stepping back to admire his handiwork. There were many blank spaces below his name on the gauntlet, left there for future patients to add their standing.

"Welcome to the Grave," Thor sighed. Tony found the nickname for the hospital disturbingly appropriate.


	7. Settlers of Catan

Tony thought school couldn't possibly get any worse…then the Ancient One switched gears from random periods in history to English. If there was one thing Tony loathed more than learning about people from a hundred years ago fighting over things that didn't even exist anymore, it was reading material he had no say in choosing. He didn't hate to read, as long as it was something that interested him. He doubted anything the Ancient One had up her sleeve would be even close to intriguing.

"Man, I hate when she makes us do English," Steve muttered. "History is so much more fun than reading random books and plays."

"Agreed," Tony said. "Although I'm not the biggest fan of history either."

"She always makes us do the most obscure books that nobody cares about," Quill bemoaned. "Tony, have you ever heard of Things Fall Apart?"

"No."

"Yam, the king of crops, was a man's crop," Thor quoted. "The only memorable thing about that entire book."

"Not its fascinating social commentary? Vivid figurative language? Novel take on narrative structure?" Quill said in a poor imitation of the Ancient One. Fortunately, she walked in just after he finished mocking her, so Quill escaped chastisement.

"We're doing things a little differently this time," the Ancient One announced. The boys exchanged glances, ranging from disbelief to concern. 'Differently' could be interpreted to mean several things.

"Maybe we'll finally get to read something cool," Thor said hopefully.

"Will you hush and allow me to explain the assignment?"

"Yes ma'am," they said in unison.

"Now, normally I would simply choose a work of literature for us all to read and analyze. However, I feel that achieving a personal connection to a piece is an important part of an education. Therefore, you will be choosing your own work of literature for this assignment," she explained. They instantly perked up, their wishes coming true. But their hopes stopped soaring quite so high when she amended her statement, "Particularly, you will choose a poem that you relate to and give a brief presentation. I am giving this assignment to the younger students as well, and once presentations begin we will do our lessons concurrently so that you may all learn from each other."

That sounded…not so fun. No teenager enjoyed reading poetry. Poetry was for snobbish professors reading through tiny glasses perched on the bridge of their noses. But hey, at least poems were shorter than novels.

"Class dismissed."

"But it's only been a few minutes," Steve said. Tony and Quill moved to shush him for suggesting they _not_ get out early.

"Well, I'm letting you go early with the expectation that you will take this time to research and begin the process of choosing your poem." They didn't need to be told twice to get out of school. They left, none with the intention of spending the next ninety minutes looking through poetry searching for a spark of self-recognition in the words of people long dead. Instead, they decided to spend the time having fun with the rest of the kids before their school session started. Except for Thor, who actually wanted a head start on his homework.

Steve suggested playing Catan, an idea that Parker, Clint, and Natasha eagerly supported. Tony had seen them play this game a few times before, but always entered the common room in the middle of a round and was unable to join in. His friends decided it had been long enough and he couldn't live alongside them without having played at least once. Tony was excited; he loved strategy games and this one provided endless entertainment and laughs for everyone else. He wanted in.

He glanced at the red pieces lined up in front of him: four cities, five settlements, and fifteen roads. The board before them contained hexagonal pieces of five different types: forest, hill, mountain, pasture, and field, and the cards beside the board depicted wood, brick, rock, sheep, and wheat. A guide card told him what everything cost—man this game seemed complicated. He looked up at his opponents: Quill with orange, Parker with blue, and Steve with white pieces. Natasha and Clint sat on the sidelines to referee. Each of them had played many times before, and Tony was somewhat daunted by their cumulative experience level. But he'd always been a fast learner.

After a brief explanation of the rules, they rolled to see who could place the first settlement. Parker, the lucky brat, rolled a twelve and earned the right to the best spot on the board. Fortunately, Tony was seated directly to his left and got to go next. He'd already plotted out which resources were the most valuable based on what they could purchase and placed his settlement on a hex between an eight forest, a four brick, and an eleven wheat. Quill and Steve placed theirs and the rotation reversed, meaning Parker's second settlement would be placed last. Tony was pleased with his second spot, which sat on a two-for-one wheat port adjacent to a five rock and a nine wheat. The numbers corresponded to which dice rolls would earn him resources; each was labeled with their relative probabilities.

The first ten minutes of the game passed in relative peace as the players built up their hands and devised their strategies. Tony coveted the Largest Army card which was worth two victory points, so spent a good portion of his wheat, rock, and sheep on development cards. "This is the most boring game of Catan I've ever witnessed," Clint complained after Steve placed a road.

"Why is that?" Tony asked. As far as the events on the board went, he didn't notice much difference from the games he'd watched before.

"No secret alliances have formed, and no one has made any enemies with repeated robber abuse or cutting off someone else's longest road."

"And no trash talk," Natasha added.

"We thought it best to ease in the rookie," Quill explained.

"Yeah. It would be a lot if we went full throttle for his first game," Steve said.

"Ridiculous. You will give him false sense of security," Natasha proclaimed, crossing her arms huffily.

"You don't have to go easy on me," Tony assured. "I'm a big boy; I can handle intense strategy or trash talk. Just don't cheat on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, gorgeous," Quill joked.

"Hilarious. Now, whose turn it is?" Tony questioned.

Maybe he regretted giving them the go ahead to play at their usual intensity level. Just a little bit. Within two turns, Parker had built a settlement in the exact spot Tony had been planning to, thanks to a very one-sided trade with Steve. Seriously, why would Steve give up a brick _and_ a sheep for one measly rock? To make matters worse, both Steve and Parker outright refused to trade anything with Tony anymore. Well, if they were going to gang up on him, he had no choice but to go with it and work around their lack of cooperation.

On his next turn, he played the knight he'd gained a few turns ago, his fifth knight total, and snagged Largest Army back from Steve, who'd stolen it a few rounds ago. This left him with seven victory points, still three away from winning. However, playing a knight card also allowed him to move the small gray robber piece from where it had frozen one of his own resource hexes and place it on someone else's. There was one hex on the board that was occupied by all three of his opponents, so of course he selected that one. He eyed all of them, deciding who to steal a card from, and extended his hand greedily to Steve. Steve had a wheat, because Parker had rolled a three on the previous turn and Steve had a city on a three wheat. Luckily, Tony selected a wheat, which gave him enough cards to turn a settlement into a city. As soon as he laid down the necessary cards, Quill muttered an obscenity. Steve and Parker shared a look, and Tony smirked.

"Don't look so scared. You all look like this knight," he held up one of his knight cards, which depicted a handsome shaggy brunette atop a horse, "just rode up to steal your girl. But don't worry, I'm only here for the victory points."

"I see how it is now," Steve said dangerously. Quill took the next turn, rolling a six. This awarded Parker three bricks, Steve a brick, and Quill two rocks. None of Tony's settlements sat adjacent to a six hex. He was peeved, though he tried not to show it.

"Starting to go broke, are we?" Quill teased, waving his hefty hand of cards in a failed attempt at subtlety.

"Just watch, the next roll will be a seven and you'll have to toss half of those away like used latex gloves," Tony countered. Natasha and Clint snickered; evidently his Catan trash talking skills were satisfactory. Quill concluded his turn without building or trading anything, and Tony watched Steve take the next roll with bated breath. However, he rolled with such force that the second die fell off the table and onto the floor. The one on the table read four, and Clint dove for the one on the ground. He held it up and proudly proclaimed it was a three. Which totaled seven. Tony grinned impishly at Quill, who stubbornly began discarding five of his ten cards. Anyone with more than seven in their hand was 'robbed' of half of them when a seven was rolled. Quill paused after dropping four, unsure which of his remaining cards mattered least to him.

"Hurry it up, before this little guy," Tony gestured to the small gray robber piece, "gets impatient."

"Not sure that's the only impatient little guy at this table," Quill mumbled. He chose another card to hand back, but instead of placing it neatly back in its pile he hurled it at Tony. The guy either got lucky or had mad card-throwing skills because it smacked him right in the jaw.

"Hey!" Tony shouted, snatching the card from where it had fallen on the table. "What would Peggy say if she knew you threw a brick at my head?"

"She'd say, 'Good job, Quill, maybe you finally knocked some sense into him!'" Natasha and Clint giggled, clearly enjoying the sparring match unfolding before them.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," Clint whispered to Nat.

Tony fumed. Quill's quip game was more advanced than he'd prepared to face. For the first time in his life, Tony Stark found himself at risk of being outsassed. Quill stared him down, daring him to top that.

"I'd say you knocked him out," Parker chimed in. "Out of your league, that is."

"Whose side are you on?" Quill questioned disgustedly.

"Hey, I like to root for an underdog."

"Is that all I am to you, Parker? Well, this underdog might just shit on your lawn."

Clint and Natasha exchanged that knowing glance that younger kids always shared when someone said a bad word.

"Try me, Stark," Parker dared. The boy squared his shoulders in what appeared to be an attempt at looking intimidating, but fell far short because of his petite stature and frail build.

"Oh, I wouldn't even have to try," Tony drawled. "You'd have a better shot at getting Quill to sit through "Come and Get Your Love" without adding his _wonderful_ voice to the track than at taking me on."

"You're on thin fucking ice, rookie," Quill warned. Natasha and Clint now looked genuinely scared that this would turn into a full-blown fight. Tony could sense the playfulness behind the insults and knew no one's feelings actually stood in danger of injury. The same could not be said of the meticulous layout of the Catan board.

"Then you'd better get the hell outta my way before we both crack it."

Quill stretched his hand out towards Tony's recently-constructed city and flicked it, sending the little red wooden piece flying off the table. "Game over," Steve sighed wistfully, but he was mostly drowned out by the sound of pieces hitting the floor. By the time the proverbial dust settled, the board wasn't even intact. Upside down hexes littered the common room. Several of the small road pieces had probably been lost for good. Tony suspected they had three minutes before Heimdall or someone else came to investigate the commotion.

They gazed out at the wreckage of their argument like siblings staring at the shards of the vase they just broke in their horseplay. They met eyes for the tiniest fraction of a second and lost it. All six of them laughed hard enough to become short of breath—even those without a compromised respiratory system.

"A perfect inaugural game for Tony," Steve remarked.

"Do they usually end like that? Or is this the type of group that never actually reaches the end of a game?" Tony asked.

"No, we manage to finish most of the time," Parker said. "But honestly it's more fun when the game ends like this. No sore losers."

"Speak for yourself; I got hit in the face with a brick!"

"A card brick," Quill reminded him. "Although I'm strongly considering hitting you with a real one."

"Where are you going to get a brick?"

"I know people."

"You have a brick dealer? Do you think he could get me some cinderblocks while he's at it? I have a sudden desire to reinforce my room against potential intruders."

"Nah, he only does bricks."

"Really? How does he make a living in such a niche market?"

"He doesn't! Because he's a made up person! Gosh, Tony, you can't keep grilling me to elaborate on my sarcasm. Sometimes I don't think it out that far!"

"That's exactly the point. I'm pushing you to the edges of your wit. Because that's what friends are for."

Crouched on the floor picking up tiny wooden houses and sorting them back into their bags, Steve growled, "No, friends are for helping clean up the mess that you all made together."

~0~

Later that afternoon, Tony forced himself to start looking for a poem to use for his project. He had no idea where he should even start. Should he pick a subject matter and go from there, or just search through endless lists of famous poets? He wondered how his peers were going about it, but was too lazy to go and ask them. He glanced at the clock and realized it was way later than he'd initially suspected. Tony decided to give up on homework for the day and instead take a shower before bed.

He took longer than usual, letting the hot water wash away the stress of this stupid poetry project. In all honesty, what would be the consequences if he just decided not to do it? Or stood up to present and gave a calculus lecture instead? He would _die_ to see the look on the Ancient One's face if he did that.

When he finished his shower and returned to his room, he noticed the fuzzy feeling on the edge of his consciousness. It reminded him of how he used to feel during a long hard run, back when he could do that. Tony pushed through the hazy sensation and got dressed for bed, but it persisted. By the time he realized he ought to have put his heart monitor back on after the shower, he'd already passed out.

~0~

Steve was halfway through writing his script for his poetry presentation when he heard the thump from next door. Mysterious thumps in a hospital never indicated anything good. He sprang up and out the door, barging into Tony's room without bothering to knock. It took half a second to register the sight of his body slumped on the floor, but the instant it did, Steve sprung into action. He slammed his finger on Tony's emergency call button and ran to his friend's side, fumbling with his wrist to find a pulse. Either he was too frazzled to find it, or Tony didn't have one. Happy arrived first, and as soon as he saw the situation he shouted for reinforcements. Within seconds that seemed to last hours, Maria joined him, crash cart in tow. Steve's pulse assessment had been correct—there wasn't one.

He watched in horror as Happy started pounding on Tony's chest, and Steve swore he could hear the boy's ribs snapping. A third nurse that Steve didn't bother to identify came in and dragged him out, but the whole time Steve couldn't divert his gaze from the spectacle before him. "You shouldn't have to see that." He recognized the voice as Heimdall's, and agreed wholeheartedly with him. Steve wished he hadn't seen it, but at the same time he knew that if he hadn't investigated the noise Tony would have been that much more likely to die. But he still could. Now that Steve couldn't see him, he had no idea what was happening to his friend. He could only hear the muffled shouts of Happy and Maria through the walls. Did he want to continue hearing it? He could run to a faraway room and wait it out until there was news either way, but he couldn't tear himself away.

He sequestered himself in his room with an ear pressed to the shared wall and waited, almost unwilling to breathe for fear he'd miss something. He heard two shouts of "Clear!" and the labored breathing of whoever was currently on CPR duty. His lip started to bleed from the force of his biting it.

"Not another Carol," he whispered to himself. "Please don't let him turn into another Carol."

He didn't. Maria exclaimed, "I've got a pulse," a few agonizing seconds later and Steve almost collapsed with relief. Tony's heart hadn't totally given up on him just yet. For the first time, Steve contemplated the reality of Tony's illness. At a glance, he didn't appear gravely ill like some of them. The cancer kids' skin often took on a gray tinge during and immediately after chemo, and anyone could tell with one glance they were sick. And anyone who spent a few hours with Thor would either pick up on the frequent absence seizures or witness a big one. But Tony appeared healthy for the most part. Steve picked up on the grimaces and brief looks of panic when Tony felt his heart rhythm stutter, but until now they'd always self-corrected.

He wondered what the implications of this incident would be. Maybe Tony would get moved up the transplant list, both a good and a bad thing all at once. Closer to a new heart equaled sicker. And he knew from personal experience what coming close to a new heart and failing looked like. He'd visited Carol in her last days despite not being inpatient at the time. It physically pained him to see someone usually so bright reduced to something so dim. Steve had no desire to ever witness anything like that ever again. If it happened to Tony too…he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few brief notes:
> 
> 1) I had to read Things Fall Apart for English class one year and to this day the only thing my friends and I remember from that book is "Yam, the king of crops, was a man's crop" (Achebe 23).
> 
> 2) The game of Catan featured in this chapter is loosely based on a time that I played with my siblings in which, one thing led to another, and the dice ended up in our dog's water bowl.
> 
> 3) It was about time I threw something eventful in here


	8. I Don't Wanna Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be alarmed by the chapter title; I promise it isn't quite what you think.

Tony knew he'd been resuscitated as soon as he woke up. Broken ribs made his chest ache fiercely. He ought to get a tattoo for every time he'd needed CPR, maybe tally marks or little hearts on his forearm or something. This was only the second time, but at this rate it would happen several more times in his future. At least, he thought so until Rhodes paid him a visit and explained his immediate treatment plan. As evidenced by this incident, his numerous medications weren't enough to keep his heart working at a satisfactory and reliable level. He needed an implanted cardiac defibrillator. ASAP.

At least he got to remain awake. He would have preferred a little more mental preparation time if he knew he was going to be knocked out on a table while doctors he barely knew sliced him open. But as he soon found out, sedation was only slightly preferable to general anesthesia. His brain perceived everything fuzzily, and he constantly fought with himself between dozing and forcing himself awake so he knew at least some of what was going on. His chest was completely numb where they'd made the incisions to feed the wires.

Whenever he thought about how desperately he wished this would end, he reminded himself of everything his friends had gone through. He could be in the chemo clinic with Natasha and Clint right now. Or have his skull cut open like Quill. And, of course, he could be dead like Carol. This procedure would keep him alive for the foreseeable future—ideally. They all knew things could take a turn for the worse at any given time. Tony was honestly surprised it had taken him so long to reach this point.

When they finished and programmed the device for him, he slept off the sedatives for the next few hours. He didn't feel right side up again until the following morning. He'd only had a few minutes of clear-headed contemplation of the visible lump under his collarbone when Steve decided to pay him a visit. At this point, Tony had no idea of Steve's role in his not dying of cardiac arrest.

"Thank God you're okay," Steve sighed, the relief evident in his tone of voice and how he charged Tony and embraced him without hesitation. Tony yelped as the impact aggravated his broken ribs and Steve immediately released him. "Sorry! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," Tony assured him. "Got some new hardware, though." He indicated the shape of the defibrillator beneath his skin.

"I was so worried."

"How'd you even know what was going on?" Tony asked.

"I heard you collapse, so I ran in and found you on the floor without a pulse."

"You found me? I thought it was Happy and Maria."

"Who do you think called them?"

The implications of this were staggering. Tony recognized in this instant that, if Steve hadn't been next door and reacted to his collapse, he might not be alive. How many people could say they owed their lives to their next door neighbor? "Steve…you realize you saved my life?" Tony said hesitantly, still not sure he even believed it himself.

"Not really. I'm sure someone else would have found you if I hadn't."

"No, Steve. I wasn't wearing my heart monitor because I'd just taken a shower. The nurses had no way of knowing. You—I owe you… big time."

"You don't owe me anything. I was just terrified that I was too late."

"You weren't. Everything turned out okay."

"Does—does it hurt?" Steve asked cautiously, indicating the defibrillator.

"No. The broken ribs do, though. Not much they can do beyond medicate me until they heal up. And I have no idea what a real shock will feel like, though I suppose I'm bound to find out eventually."

"You know, from the outside it looks kind of like a port."

"Hmm, yeah. It kinda does," Tony remarked, glancing at it once again. "Not quite the same function, though."

"Of course not. At least you'll never have to worry about sealing it off because it's accessed and you still need to shower."

"You can't shower normally with an accessed port?"

"Absolutely not. You can't expose a line running straight into your major veins to _tap water_. That's just asking for infection."

"Sounds like a pain. I can't imagine having to constantly worry about keeping a line safe from seemingly everything in the world."

"Consider yourself lucky you don't have to deal with it. One time when I was younger I asked Santa for a deaccessed shower for Christmas."

"Did he deliver?"

"Actually, yes. It was the best Christmas ever."

"Now that's just sad."

~0~

Apparently having multiple broken ribs and nearly dying didn't excuse him from his homework. The Ancient One refused to move the due date for his poetry presentation, though she claimed she'd take his time constraint into account when grading it. Not like their grades in this sorry excuse for a class mattered. What college would even consider him with a high school diploma that read Gravesen Hospital? On second thought, what kid would even consider thinking about college when they lived in a hospital? Apparently Tony would.

Forcing his dreams of a formal education to the back of his mind, Tony set about finding a poem he could bullshit some personal connection to. If he wheedled enough, he could probably come up with something for just about any poem in existence. A part of him wanted to just snatch the first random poem to pop up on the internet and run with it, but another part felt that was disrespectful to his classmates that put forth effort into the assignment.

He started with names of poets, hoping one would catch his eye as the name of a person he could relate to, but there was nothing he could gain about their work from an endless list of stereotypical British names. "Everyone else has probably already finished theirs," he sighed to himself. Why couldn't they just learn math? He'd much rather teach himself vector calculus or linear algebra than attempt to discover works of literature that might teach him something about himself. A quiet knock at his door drew his focus away from his lack of productivity.

"Come in," he called. The door opened, and Parker stepped in. The kid paid Tony more visits than anyone in this hospital—except nurses—and Tony was yet to figure out why. "Hey Parker," he greeted. "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," Parker sighed, taking a seat at the foot of the bed and mindlessly stroking Jarvis's ears.

"That sounds like a not okay." Tony closed his computer and turned to face Parker, glad to focus on something other than that stupid project.

"I'm just nervous about this whole poetry project thing. I hate standing up in front of people and talking."

"Well, you're currently sitting down in front of a person and talking. How different can it be?" Tony smirked.

"This is a conversation. It's different."

"Only if you think it is.

"I know it is. I've done both before. Before you got here, my class had to do a presentation about our assigned chapter of the Call of the Wild and I nearly passed out in front of everyone I was so nervous. I've never nearly passed out having a conversation."

"Well, congrats on that. I can't say the same."

"Steve told me what happened," Parker said. "He sounded so rattled that I got really scared. Not much can rattle Steve."

"I'll bet. The man's a real soldier," Tony remarked. "But so are you, Parker."

"That's funny," he replied, waving off Tony's comment.

"I'm serious."

"No way. The only reason I'm here is because I'm weak."

"That is not true," Tony insisted, fearing where this conversation might lead. Yes, they all had their moments, but he'd never heard this degree of self-loathing come from Parker. "Why would you ever suggest such a thing?"

"If I can't get better, that's on me. For all the rest of you, not getting better just means your illness is too strong. But if I don't, it's because I'm not strong enough."

"No," Tony told him. "That's bullshit. Parker, you are no weaker than any of us. Just because you're here for a different reason doesn't mean it's any less legitimate. If I ever find out who told you that, they're not going to be strong enough to withstand the fury I will unleash on them."

"Nobody told me that. I just realized it's the truth," Parker defended.

"Stop saying that. Parker, I've known you for a while now and you are no weaker than anybody else here. And I know you don't normally think like this. Something happened. What happened?"

Parker took a deep rattling breath and placed Jarvis in his lap, nervously squeezing his paws. "H—Hope said she wants—wants to transfer me t-to a facility that specializes in eating disorders," he stammered. Tony watched the first tears fall and immediately moved to sit beside the boy, wrapping what he hoped was a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"When did she tell you this?" Tony asked.

"She d-didn't."

"Then how do you know she said that?"

"I was going to her office for session, and—and I heard through the door that she was on the phone with someone. I heard my name, so I couldn't help but listen in. She was telling some special hospital about my case and asking what they might be able to do for me."

"Did you tell her that you overheard that conversation when you had session after?"

"No. I didn't want to bring it up b-because I thought that might make it hap-happen sooner. I don't want to go!" he cried, wrapping himself fully around Tony and nearly toppling him to the bed. Tony's broken ribs blazed in agony, but he couldn't deny whatever comfort this was providing the boy. So he tried his best to breathe through the pain without letting on. "I don't want to go, I don't want to go," Parker repeated more frantically.

"Shhh, it's okay," Tony assured him. "I'm sure if you tell Dr. van Dyne that you don't want to go she won't send you away."

"She will! I didn't want to come here in the first place, but they forced me to. Nobody ever listens to me."

"I'm listening to you. I won't let them send you away."

"What can you do about it?"

"Whatever I need to do to make sure you stay where you belong," Tony told him. But at this point, he wasn't wholly convinced that Parker wouldn't benefit from going to a specialist. Of course he didn't want the boy to leave here, where familiar staff and peers surrounded him, but more than that he wanted Parker to heal. If he couldn't do that here, then he should go elsewhere.

"Promise?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Tony remained entrapped in Parker's unfaltering embrace for at least another twenty minutes before the boy calmed down enough to release him. If he'd been any physically stronger, Parker probably would have broken another rib or two. As it was, he'd just aggravated the existing injuries to the point where Tony noticed his breathing grow shallower. Fortunately, it wasn't enough for Parker to observe. The last thing Tony wanted was for him to feel guilty for needing comfort.

"You okay?" Tony asked cautiously.

Parker wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, replacing the teddy bear alongside the other stuffed animals. "Yeah," he replied. "Thanks."

"Any time. I'm always here for you if you need to talk about anything, even if it's nowhere near as important as this."

"Okay." An attempt at a smile. "How's your poem search going?"

"Not well," Tony admitted. "I still don't have a clue."

"Have you ever read Edwin Muir?"

"No. Never heard of him."

"Look him up," Parker said cryptically. "He's got some gems." And with that, he stood and left, off to his own room or to see Steve for additional advice or support. Tony decided to follow his suggestion and research Muir. He didn't see anything spectacular in the man's biography. Only once he started scrolling through his better-known works did he encounter something that plucked a very particular heartstring—and no, not one of the wires feeding to his defibrillator.

It was called the Child Dying.

Tony read it through once and let the thoughts of the narrator wash over him, unlocking sentiments he didn't know were buried within him. This child cried out to the massive universe, avowing his own insignificance. He expressed hope for his memory to remain but recognized he would never again exist alongside the world he knows. And finally, he called out and reached for his father as fear of the unknown overwhelmed him. Never before had Tony read any piece of writing that so accurately conveyed his own feelings in writing. If he'd set pen to paper, he couldn't have expressed himself this clearly and beautifully. This poem was everything he constantly thought in the back of his mind but feared to mention to anyone—even himself.

Tony knew his death wouldn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. A selective group might miss him, a group that had possible grown since he arrived at Gravesen, but, seeing as he was merely a child who hadn't accomplished anything important, the world would not acknowledge his demise. The lives of everyone who mattered would proceed without a hitch after his death.

He hoped those that cared about him would remember, would think fondly of him when they watched a particularly beautiful sunset or escaped a thunderstorm to find a rainbow. But the reality was he had no way of knowing. If he died and everyone instantly moved on, he'd be none the wiser. Dead men tell no tales, so they said, and nor could they hear the living if they told tales of him.

Finally, he thought of his father. The narrator of the poem reached for his father's hand as Death approached to take him away, and he pleaded his fears to him. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about his father potentially being there if he died. However, he was almost certain how his father would feel. Howard Stark would want to be as far away as possible if his son's stupid, damaged heart decided to beat its last. Tony had known this almost his entire life. If he so much as scraped a knee as a child, Howard refused to even glance at him and sent him off to his mother or a nanny to get bandaged up. And ever since Tony had been admitted here, he'd grown even more distant. The pattern presented itself rather obviously: as Tony got sicker, Howard drew himself further away.

"I did not know death was so strange," he whispered the final line aloud to himself. Tony Stark prided himself on how much he did know, but this he truly did not know. Nor would he ever know, until it happened. No one could hope to comprehend the strangeness of Death until they found themselves face to face with Thanatos himself and watched him snap them out of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the next chapter will basically be a poetry slam. I found it a great way to get inside these's characters' heads and to finally put to use a book of British poetry that I bought at a discount book sale for fifty cents.


	9. A Deal of Joy and Pain and Wonder

"Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary," the Ancient One stated to a classroom full of more terrified students than had ever been packed into it before. Presentations were always nerve-wracking for any kid without an unnatural amount of stage presence, but today they would be forced to stand up and speak about something deeply personal. At least, Tony's was deeply personal. He had no way of knowing how seriously the other students had taken the task of finding a poem that 'spoke to them.' Maybe they'd all found a random one and made something up, which would make Tony look like a fool for putting effort and emotion into his personal connection. Well, he supposed there were worse things than being known as a sap.

"I'm assuming you all came prepared for today's presentations?" she asked, eyeing the classroom and searching for any signs of guilt that accompanied not doing one's homework. Tony followed her gaze, watching her scrutinize each and every one of his friends. Frankly, it was a miracle they all showed up, seeing as his own smaller class was almost always missing at least one person. The Ancient One must have talked to the chemo clinic and found a hole in everyone's treatment schedule—and gotten really lucky.

Evidently, she found no overt signs of homework neglect, so she proceeded with her spiel, "When it's your turn, I expect you to read your poem aloud to the class, discuss why you chose this particular piece of literature, and share your interpretation. What does the poem you choose say about you, that's the driving question behind this assignment. Understood?" The class murmured assent. "Excellent. Who would like to go first?"

Silence. Nobody dared to raise their hand and volunteer for such a dangerous position. First in the presentation lineup was a place no one ever wanted to stand. It was always better to let someone else go first so you could get a read on how long and how good the work was expected to be. Of course, there was always the risk that the first one to go would be the best, and every subsequent presentation would look meek by comparison. Also present was the risk of ending up last and having to go after everyone had already dispelled their nerves and gotten bored of listening to a multitude of presentations on the same subject. Tony wished he could run an experiment on how place order affected the grade a person received on a presentation, but he lacked the means and proper sample size.

"Well then, you all are fortunate I prepared for this very possibility," the Ancient One proclaimed. From behind her desk she pulled out an object many of them were all too familiar with: an emesis basin. Tony saw all the cancer kids instantly flinch and avert their eyes at the sight of it. Did she really expect they were nervous enough about this to start spewing? Tony realized that was a stupid question when she reached her hand into the bin and pulled out a slip of paper. It was merely a receptacle for slips of paper with their names on it, not a contingency plan for possible consequences of such an anxiety-provoking assignment. It was probably the only thing she could get her hands on in a hospital.

"I'd rather be at chemo," he heard Bucky mutter. Tony couldn't blame him.

"Thor," she read the name off the piece of paper, dooming him to the dreaded duty of setting the tone for presentations. Every head in the room turned to stare at him. Tony considered the possibility that the stress of going first might be enough to aggravate Thor's epilepsy, but after a only brief absence seizure he stood and made his way to the front of the classroom, a piece of paper clutched in his right hand tightly enough to crumple it.

"So, my poem is called 'Valhalla Calls,'" he began sheepishly. Tony had never known Thor to act shy, but presentations made cowards out of everyone. "If you're not familiar with the term, Valhalla is the afterlife of heroes in Norse mythology. There, they train and await Ragnarok, when they will rise and fight again. Anyway, here goes." He paused, and it took Tony several seconds to realize he wasn't just steeling himself but had slipped into another absence seizure. Fortunately, it only lasted about ten seconds and Thor continued without even noticing he'd paused for so long.

"My life-blood is shed, steel painted red, a thousand men dead, ravens fast fed.

"And so the veil falls, revealing walls, of cavernous halls, Valhalla calls.

"The fighting is done, feasting begun, a saga well spun, of battles won."

Three simple stanzas, but the simplicity of the rhyme scheme was pleasing to the ear. Tony could see why Thor liked it before the other boy even began to explain his choice.

"I chose this poem because it's short and simple but gets the point across very well. It's about a warrior at the end of his life after a successful conquest being welcomed into the halls of the honorable dead. It's an ending I wish my life could have," he admitted. "But the reality is, every seizure feels like a battle I lose. Just once, it would be nice to win one, and at the end of my life be recognized for that." He nodded curtly and hurried back to his seat, crushing the paper so tightly Tony couldn't even see it anymore.

Well, Tony wasn't the only one who'd taken his analysis seriously.

"Thank you very much Thor, I know going first presents an extra challenge," the Ancient One said. Now the expectation had been set for something emotionally moving. Tony was relieved his presentation wouldn't stand out as particularly sappy. He also felt really bad for Thor and the indignities that epilepsy forced upon him. Of course he would fantasize about a Viking warrior's death when in reality he was most likely to perish from a hitting his head too hard after collapsing to seize. At this rate, a group therapy session would be necessary after this was all over.

"Clint, you're next."

The young boy stood up and began reading without preamble. His poem was about a walrus and a carpenter who sought out some oysters and tricked them into friendship before eating them. Tony recognized it from Through the Looking Glass, which his mother had read to him when he was very young. The playfulness and nonsense of the narrative matched Clint's personality perfectly.

"I chose this because it reminds me of my father, who reads it to me whenever he comes to visit when I'm in the hospital. I like it because of how silly it is. Poetry's always supposed to be taken seriously, and so many poems are about death or depression, but I like to look at the brighter side." That concluded his presentation, the poem itself having taken up most of the time, and Clint returned to his seat.

"Thank you Clint," The Ancient One stated, reaching into the pink basin for another name. "Bruce."

"Good afternoon everyone," he greeted, forcing a mask of professionalism to hide his nervousness. "I selected Dylan Thomas's 'And Death Shall Have no Dominion.'"

Just the title warmed Tony's heart like a campfire warms cold hands on a crisp autumn night. Bruce's reading of it only magnified that feeling.

"This poem speaks to me because it deals with a topic that I am forced to confront every day here, and one that I regrettably thought about a lot over the course of my life. But no matter how often I encounter it, I like to think of death not controlling lives like so many people assume it does. Thank you." He folded up the notes in his hands and shuffled back to his seat. Tony turned and gave him a thumbs up, which he sheepishly returned.

"Natasha, you're up next," The Ancient One announced. Tony watched her force her shoulders back and hold her head high as she strode to the front of the room. She read her poem in Russian and though Tony couldn't understand a single word, he understood the feeling.

"Mama translated poem from English and read it every night before bed when I was young," Natasha explained. "It is about spider making web from silk strands. It is symbol for soul throwing ropes to make sense of world. In English, it is called 'A Noiseless Patient Spider.' Mama calls me my nickname, little spider, because of this poem."

Once again, Tony found his curiosity about Natasha's childhood bubbling up within him and threatening to spill over. He knew she lived in Russia before coming to Gravesen, but beyond that he knew practically nothing. Well, now he knew her mom read her poetry and called her little spider. Those tidbits of information only increased his desire to get to know her better.

"Thank you very much Natasha, you may return to your seat now." She nodded and walked back with that confident grace Tony now recognized as that of a dancer. His high school had a dance team and he vividly remembered watching them stride around the school hallways, their heels seemingly never touching the floor. Natasha's reflex to fix her posture whenever it faltered made infinitely more sense now. He was so focused on congratulating himself for figuring that out he missed the announcement of the next name. Fortunately, it wasn't him, but Parker who would have to go next.

"I heard a small sad sound, and stood awhile among the tombs around: 'Wherefore, old friends,' said I, 'are you distrest, now, screened from life's unrest?'

"—'O not at being here; but that our future second death is near; when, with the living, memory of us numbs, and blank oblivion comes!

"'These, our sped ancestry, lie here embraced by deeper death than we; nor shape nor thought of theirs can you descry with keenest backward eye.

"'They count as quite forgot; they are as men who have existed not; theirs is a loss past loss of fitful breath; it is the second death.

"'We here, as yet, each day are blest with dear recall; as yet, can say we hold in some soul loved continuance of shape and voice and glance.

"'But what has been will be—first memory, then oblivion's swallowing sea; like men foregone, shall we merge into those whose story no one knows.

"'For which of us could hope to show in life that world-awakening scope granted the few whose memory none lets die, but all men magnify?

"'We were but Fortune's sport; things true, things lovely, things of good report we neither shunned nor sought…We see our bourne, and seeing it we mourn.'"

Tony didn't typically understand poetry on the first go around, but the message of this piece struck him like the shock of defibrillator paddles. The idea of the second death. It terrified him more than it had any right to, especially since he'd yet to experience even his first death (he'd wait and see how long that lasted). He listened with bated breath as Parker explained exactly why this poem resonated with him.

"Many people important to me have already suffered a first death," he said sadly. "And it's my responsibility as someone who loved them to keep their memory alive. Every night, I think about one memory for each of them: my mom, my dad, Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Carol. I could do nothing to stop the first death, so I must do everything I can to prevent the second."

Steve shed a tear. Tony watched it drip down his cheek while he contemplated the extent of Parker's list. He knew the boy had been in foster care prior to here, but he didn't realize just how many family members had died. Once again, his pity and marvel for the young boy were amplified tenfold.

"That was beautiful Parker, excellent job," the Ancient One commended. It was the first and only compliment any of them would receive for their presentations. Bucky followed with a poem called 'If Sleep and Death Be Truly One,' about how the dead are like the sleeping in that they don't recognize the passage of time but still hold on to feelings of love they have when awake.

"If sleep and death are truly one and the same," Bucky said. "I don't think we could wish for anything better than that."

"Thank you very much Bucky. Quill, you're next."

Quill stood before the class and read, "Music, when soft voice die, vibrates in the memory—odours, when sweet violets sicken, live within the sense they quicken.

"Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, are heap-d for the beloved's bed; and so thy thoughts, when you are gone, love itself shall slumber on.

"I chose this poem, not gonna lie, because it's so short and it didn't take that much effort to actually understand what Percy Shelley was trying to say. But it also makes me hopeful about my mother, that despite her being gone, her love persists."

"I'm sure it does, Quill," the Ancient One said.

"Whoa, is she going after the Falcon's job?" Bucky leaned over and quipped to Tony.

"With placating like that, she could take it," Tony whispered back. "Plus she's already got the staring-into-your-soul down pat."

"Nick, you're up." He stood and read with his single eye a beautiful poem about a person noticing a blind girl and how she moved and acted differently from everyone else.

"I chose this to honor some people I've met who already lost their eyesight, and because I still fear the chance that I will lose mine and become like the girl in the poem. Not sure I'd be able to do it with that much grace, though, but I got time to figure that out," he huffed. Then he returned to his seat without a word, fist-bumping Clint on a job well done.

"Steve, it's your turn," the Ancient one announced. Damn that meant Tony would be the grand finale. He didn't think he was up to the task of closer.

Steve stood and worked his way to the front of the room. He stood there for a few moments to catch his breath before beginning. "Like Bucky, I also chose a Tennyson poem. This one is entitled, 'Be Near Me When My Light Is Low.'

"Be near me when my light is low, when the blood creeps, and the nerves prick and tingle; and the heart is sick, and all the wheels of Being slow.

"Be near me when the sensuous frame is racked with pangs that conquer trust; and Time, a maniac scattering dust, and Life, a fury slinging flame.

"Be near me when my faith is dry, and men the flies of latter spring, that lay their eggs, and sting and sing and weave their petty cells and die.

"Be near me when I fade away, to point the term of human strife, and on the low dark verge of life the twilight of eternal day.

"I think dying alone is just about the scariest thing any of us can contemplate. I know for sure that when I go, I don't want it to be in an empty room. I'm not sure who Tennyson directed this instruction to, but I know whoever it was must have listened, because denying someone's dying wish is not something most people are willing to do no matter what. I've had to be that person before, and it's just about the worst thing you can do while also the best thing."

"We'll be here for you, Steve," Bucky called out. "Who else is gonna draw a mustache on your face?"

"That's enough Mr. Barnes," the Ancient One scolded. "You should be applauding the presentation, not jeering."

"It's okay, ma'am. Bucky shows his appreciation through crude humor." With that, Steve returned to his seat and all eyes fell to Tony. If there ever was an opportune time to have a heart attack, it was now, but unfortunately he wasn't so lucky. He stood and shakily progressed to the front of the room, no less nervous than at the beginning of class.

"This poem was actually recommended to me by Parker," he pointed out, nodding at the boy who gave him a thumbs up and a smile. "It's called the Child Dying, written by Edwin Muir." He began reading and lost himself in the words, forgetting to be nervous, "Unfriendly friendly universe, I pack your stars into my purse, and bid you, bid you so farewell. That I can leave you, quite go out, go out, go out beyond all doubt, my father says, is the miracle.

"You are so great, and I so small: I am nothing, you are all: being nothing, I can take this way. Oh I need neither rise nor fall, for when I do not move at all I shall be out of all your day.

"It's said some memory will remain in the other place, grass in the rain, light on the land, sun on the sea, a flitting grace, a phantom face, but the world is out. There is no place where it and its ghost can ever be.

"Father, father, I dread this air blown from the far side of despair the cold cold corner. What house, what hold, what hand is there? I look and see nothing-filled eternity, and the great round world grows weak and old.

"Hold my hand, oh hold it fast—I am changing!—until at last my hand in yours no more will change, though yours change on. You here, I there, so hand in hand, twin-leafed despair—I did not know death was so strange."

He finished, and the room fell silent. Quieter than it had been for any of the other poems. Tony knew he'd struck a chord with each and every one of them because, in some way or another, they were all children dying. Or at least had been dying at some point in their short lives. Of all of them, Tony wasn't even the closest to dying, but his reading the poem forced them all to contemplate that reality.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say this poem spoke to me," he continued. "I know I'm insignificant to the universe, but in the time I do have I want to make myself significant to as many people as possible. I want my death to mean something, whether it happens in the next few weeks or years from now."

"Tony, you mean something," Parker spoke out from the assembled students.

"The universe is huge, stop setting your sights so high," Bruce added.

"Yeah. You don't have to be significant to the whole universe, just your universe," Clint said.

"And we're all pretty glad we get to be a part of that universe," Steve concluded.

Tony could have wept. He didn't, because he stood in front of practically everyone he knew and didn't want to embarrass himself any more than he already had, but he could have wept. He was the newcomer to this band of kids united only by their mutual sickness and forced proximity, so he understood why he might be considered more of an outsider than any of them, but they'd just proven him wrong. He was just as much a part of their universe as they were of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parker's poem, "The To-Be-Forgotten" quickly became my favorite, and I may or may not reference it again several times.


	10. 'Gravesen Group Bonding Session'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a continuation of the previous chapter, so I'm posting it early. We'll get to plot points soon, I promise, but for now here's another heaping dose of fluff.

After the poetry assignment, they got a break from homework. The Ancient One was apparently pleased with how they all approached the task. Nothing excited kids more than a lack of homework. They took advantage of all of them being together and relatively healthy by all heading to the common room after class for what Tony mentally referred to as a 'Gravesen group bonding session.' It was rare that they all got to be together like this, so they made the most of it. With too many people to play any sort of civilized game, Steve suggested they find a topic of discussion.

"We just did a bunch of learning about each other in class," Quill complained. "My head can't fit anymore."

"Relax, I'm not going to ask anyone to share some deep personal story that affects every aspect of their personality to this day," Steve said.

"That's the Falcon's job," Bucky cut in.

"Exactly. We can just tell a fun fact about ourselves or something like that. Something that would be fun to learn about each other. I, for one, have had enough emotional trauma for one day."

"Agreed," Nick chimed in. "I have an idea for how to start. If toast is cut diagonally, I can't eat it," he admitted sheepishly.

"What the hell?" Tony said, flabbergasted. He knew some people were incredibly picky about the textures and shapes of the foods they ate, but Nick didn't strike him as the type to worry about that.

"What's the reasoning behind that?" Steve questioned.

"I ate toast cut diagonally the morning before my first ever chemo dose. Then, inevitably, I got sick and ever since then I can't stand the idea of diagonal toast," he explained.

"Didn't they tell you to pick a scapegoat food?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, why didn't they tell you that?" Clint echoed.

"I don't know why they neglected to give me such a simple tip. I guess they just didn't care if I developed an aversion to certain cuts of cooked bread."

"What's a scapegoat food?" Parker asked genuinely, voicing the question also running through Tony's head.

"It's a psychology thing," Bucky explained. "When you start chemo for the first time, you get nauseous, obviously. And your brain doesn't understand it's being force-fed poison and assumes that the sickness was caused by the last thing you ate, whatever that happens to be. So they tell you to pick a scapegoat food, something that you don't really like that much or haven't eaten before, and eat that before chemo so that you don't develop an aversion to the taste of foods you actually like."

"Fascinating," Steve remarked.

"What was your scapegoat food?" Parker inquired.

"Lemon drops," Bucky answered.

"Mine was black licorice," Clint added. "Natasha, did they tell you to pick one when you started chemo?"

She shook her head. "No time. Leukemia was so bad, start chemo was emergency."

"Well, they also neglected to share that crucial bit of information with me, so now I'm stuck with an inability to stomach diagonal cut toast."

"What if you cut it diagonally twice, into four corners?" Tony asked.

"I don't know, I've never tried it. But who the hell cuts their toast into four corners? That's weird."

"That's how my mom used to cut it for me when I was little," Tony explained.

"I've never heard of that before. All my mom did was cut the crusts off. The four corners thing seems kinda weird."

"Hey, at least I can stomach toast no matter how it's cut," Tony countered.

"Don't make fun of me for it! Chemo fucks you up in ways you cancer muggles could never understand," Nick seethed. Tony immediately felt bad for what he'd said, but he found the phrase 'cancer muggles' rather humorous. Humorous enough that he snickered. He should have tried harder to staunch it. "It's not funny!"

"Tony, maybe now is not a good time to be laughing," Steve warned him.

"I'm sorry. I've just never been referred to as a 'cancer muggle' before," he said, finally pulling himself together.

"I don't think any of you guys are legitimate cancer muggles, since you live alongside us," Bucky told them. "And you haven't told us to try essential oils or meditation instead of chemo."

"People do that?" Thor asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah. Some people put more stock in an anti-cancer recipe they found on Pinterest than on medical research supported with fifty years of evidence."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Tony stated.

"Dumber than my toast eating habits?" Nick questioned sarcastically.

"We all have our quirks. I'll bet you're not the only one with a strange aversion or something like that. Anyone else wanna share? This can be our enlightening topic of conversation to celebrate being free from the Ancient One's brutal homework assignment."

"I put mayo on hot dogs," Clint blurted out.

"You do what now?!" Bucky sounded positively scandalized. "Now that's just un-American."

"No it's not! It's a condiment just like ketchup is."

"No, Clint, it's not," Nick said. "I'm with Bucky on this one."

"Well, if that's what I get for sharing, then this is a stupid exercise," he harrumphed.

"Guys, be nice," Steve coaxed. "Thank you for sharing Clint. Whoever suggested this," he pointedly _did not_ look at Tony as he said this, "meant for it to be a way for us all to understand each other, not to get at each other's throats for having different habits."

"Thank you, guidance counselor Rogers, for that lovely reminder," Bucky drawled.

"Your turn, then," Steve told him.

"Well, since I'm soon going to be an obligate right-handed person, I find that I despise innate biases against left-handed people that exist in this world, because I am sure there are obligate left-handed people as well. Some classrooms don't even have left-handed desks. Imagine if I was forced to awkwardly reach across myself just to write on my own desk. It bothers me."

"Wait, what do you mean obligate right-handed person?" Tony asked. This was news to him.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? Tony, you fit in so well sometimes I forget you're the Gravesen rookie of the year. Yeah, this arm is not long for this world. Tumor's lodged deep in my left shoulder and there's nothing to do except resect it, except it's tangled up in so much stuff that there's no way they can save the shoulder joint. No choice but to lop it all off."

"That's horrible," Tony stated, dumbstruck. "When is this happening?"

"Thursday," Bucky replied nonchalantly.

"Lucky it's your left hand," Nick said.

"No kidding. Steve, your turn," he said, redirecting the conversation. Tony couldn't believe how casual Bucky sounded about the whole thing. Were Tony in his shoes he'd certainly be freaking out about losing an entire arm, even if it was his non-dominant.

"I can't dance. At all," Steve admitted.

"Everyone can dance," Quill said.

"Not me. And it's not just because I don't have the lung capacity, I have no sense of rhythm."

"I want to see evidence of this," Quill remarked.

"Me too," Thor added. "Steve, you should demonstrate your bad dancing."

"Absolutely not. This is not a show and tell, this is just a tell."

"Well, seeing as we can't force Nick to confront diagonal toast, or Bucky a college classroom full of righty desks, I don't think it's fair to make Steve dance," Parker said.

"He's got a point. Thor, now you," Bucky instructed.

"I only eat one flavor of Pop Tarts," he said.

"Which one?" Clint asked.

"Brown sugar cinnamon."

"That's the best one," Tony contributed.

"But it's not the only one worth eating. What about strawberry?" Quill said.

"Just not as good," Tony replied.

"How about you, Nat? What's your weird like or dislike?" Clint inquired.

"Most people are afraid of spiders, yes?" she asked.

"Yeah. They're creepy," Bucky said. "Are you like, super duper afraid of them or something?"

"No. I love spiders. They are beautiful." Tony wondered why spiders were such a recurring theme for this girl. That poem her mom read to her must have really sunk in over the years.

"You like spiders? That's mighty brave," Nick stated.

"I don't mind spiders," Parker added. "But I wouldn't say that I like them."

"Well then, what's your claim to fame, Parker?" Nick asked.

"I don't think I have one," he admitted.

"Not even something a little out of the ordinary?" Steve questioned.

"Ummm, I _hate_ grocery stores. I can't even really drive past one without freaking out a bit," he explained, voice meek and barely audible. Tony had never heard of such a phobia before, though he suspected this was somehow linked to his eating disorder. Uncovering that connection was Drs. van Dyne and Wilson's job, not his, and frankly it was none of his business. But he couldn't help but wonder what had happened with a grocery store to make Parker desperately fear them.

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Bruce blurted out after being silent for the entire conversation prior. He so rarely spent time with the rest of them, preferring to stick to his mandated schedule, that half the room jumped at hearing his voice. "My interest in that story can only be considered an obsession."

"Is that the one about the man who drinks the potion that turns him into an evil version of himself?" Quill asked.

"Yep. It's brilliantly written, explores the duality of man—"

"Bruce, we just got _out_ of English class," Clint whined. "Don't make us go back."

"Sorry," he said, blushing. "As I said, I'm kind of obsessed with that story."

"Don't feel bad about it," Steve told him. "Do I need to make it clear again that this is intended as an exercise in friendship, not bullying?"

"No ma'am," Bucky replied. Steve whacked him. "Hey, you're lucky that's my bad arm. I don't want my one remaining bicep to be marred with any bruising."

"Why do you think I sat on your left side?"

"Well, this is adorable," Quill remarked, "But I think it's my turn now." He took a deep breath. "I'm a space nerd."

"Is that what Star Trek fans are calling themselves now?" Parker asked.

"No, it isn't. It just means I like space. You know, other planets and stars and shit."

"Please don't tell me that means you're into astrology," Nick said.

"Of course not. That stuff's completely made up. Astronomy is a real science."

"And so is oncology, hooray," Bucky mock-cheered.

"This whole thing was your idea, Tony, so it's only fitting that you wrap it up," Steve said.

"I don't like to be handed things," Tony admitted. Deep down, he knew the reason why, but that was more than he was willing to share with these guys. His nerves vibrated like plucked strings whenever a hand reached out towards him to present an object, no matter how innocuous an object it was.

"Why is that?" Bucky asked.

"I don't know. It just makes me uncomfortable."

"So what do you do if someone tries to hand you something?" Parker asked.

"I just tell them to put it down somewhere, and then I pick it up."

"I still think Nick's toast thing wins for weirdest quirk," Bucky stated.

"What? How is that worse than putting fucking mayonnaise on hot dogs," Nick retorted.

"I didn't say worse; I said weirder."

"I still think we should make Steve dance," Clint piped up hopefully.

"I still think we should not," Steve countered.

"Fine."

"You know what we could do…" Quill said knowingly.

"What?" several voices asked in return.

"MarioKart."

"You guys have MarioKart here and nobody told me?" Tony was shocked. They made him play Catan of all things before contesting his MarioKart skills? Inexcusable.

"We do have MarioKart," Steve explained. "But every time we play it we get banned from playing it."

"Why?"

"Some of us are rather competitive," Bucky said vaguely.

"Dibs on Princess Peach," Tony insisted.

"Peach? What are you, a seven-year-old girl?" Quill challenged.

"Hey! There is nothing unmanly about choosing the best character in the game."

"Fine. As long as nobody takes Yoshi away from me, I'm good."

"We can only have four at a time, so who's up?" Steve asked. "Besides Tony and Quill."

"I'll sit this one out," Nick said. "I have a feeling spectating is going to be a lot more fun."

"I'm in," Clint said.

"I want in too. I won't really be able to play after Thursday, so I'd better get in as many games as possible."

"Oh man, I didn't even think about that. Alright, Tony, Bucky, Quill, and Clint, let's get this show on the Rainbow Road."

"Steve, a dad joke? Really?" Tony said.

"Shut up and take the controller," Steve countered. In all the excitement he must've forgotten what Tony revealed during the previous conversation, because he thrust the controller towards Tony and waited for him to take it. He felt his heart speed up and begin to stutter as he contemplated the gesture in front of him. The feeling worsened until a jolt shot through his chest like lightning through a gnarled old tree. He paused, eyes widening in realization at what just happened, and Steve quickly took notice. "Sorry," he muttered. "I forgot." He placed the controller on the sofa and allowed Tony to pick it up. He hesitated, still unsure of what he should do. His defibrillator had just fired, of that much he was certain, but he felt completely normal again. It must've done its job, Tony decided. No way was he missing out on MarioKart to get checked out for something that wasn't even a real problem.

"You good?" Steve asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Great," Tony replied, selecting Peach and bracing himself for the most competitive race of his lifetime. Quill chose Yoshi, Clint Bowser Junior, and Bucky Luigi. They set everything to the highest difficulty level, as it should be, and began the race to end all races. Right off the bat, the four of them soared ahead of any of the computer-controlled characters. Tony focused on hugging the curves of the track to minimize travel distance, while Clint steamrolled into any rainbow item box within his reach. Bucky took an early lead, though was quickly replaced by Quill after the latter lobbed a red turtle shell at him.

By the second lap, the volume of competitive screaming has risen to deafening, so much so that Natasha crept forward and removed Clint's hearing aids at the boy's request. Tony now understood why this game had been banned every time they played. Quill looked like he wasn't far from passing out and his own head spun with the intensity of the race and the added pressure of all his friends watching. He lost count of the laps until the music sped up indicating the final loop.

At this point, they'd all been mercilessly beaten by a turtle shell at least three times, Clint had fallen off the course but managed to regain his standing. Tony was yet to hold the first place spot for any length of time, but he was biding his time, lurking just outside of everyone else's focus. With a shout, Quill narrowly avoided a banana peel and sailed ahead of Bucky, who drifted around the next curve with ease and narrowed the gap between him and Quill. Tony sat just ahead of Clint in a solid third, and the finish line rapidly approached.

Clint, the little monster, tossed a perfectly-aimed green shell and sped past Tony. There was no hope left for him. Bucky crossed the finish line with a whoop of victory, Quill a mere half second behind. Clint actually dared to stick his tongue out at Tony as he finished, and finally Tony completed the race—still miles ahead of the nearest computer-controlled racer, but last among his friends. He'd never come in worse than second place in his entire life.

"Was that a satisfactory challenge for ya, Stark?" Bucky asked snarkily.

"I suppose it was. Good race," Tony conceded. It was one thing to lose, but another entirely to lose disgracefully. He could at least be a good sport about it. Natasha returned Clint's hearing aids to him, and the kid immediately proclaimed it the most exciting race he'd ever been a part of.

"At least you can end your MarioKart career on a high note," Quill told Bucky.

"Absolutely. I can't think of a better last race."

"So I'm guessing that means there's no rematch?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just steal random character tidbits from MCU canon and twist them to fit these versions of the characters? Absolutely. Did I enjoy it? Hell yeah.


	11. A Farewell to Arms

Steve and Natasha conspired for days to plan a going-away party for Bucky's arm. They wouldn't allow anyone else to help them, insisting it would ruin the surprise. Tony didn't quite understand why it needed to be a surprise for anybody but Bucky, but no matter how many times he offered his assistance it was denied. He spent some time hanging out with Parker. Between the poetry slam at school and the random sharing of personal quirks, Tony had learned a lot more about the boy. Or rather, he'd learned a lot more about just how much he didn't know about the boy.

As he sat in Parker's room listening to him ramble on about some random Star Wars headcanons, he resisted the urge to upright ask about his family history, about how his relatives passed away or how his phobia fit into that. But he couldn't pry. He had a feeling Parker got his fill of talking about that sort of thing during his sessions with Dr. van Dyne and the Falcon. In his stupor he almost missed Parker asking him a question of the very same nature.

"Tony?" Parker repeated.

"Yeah?"

"I asked if you were okay."

"I'm fine, just thinking," he insisted.

"Okay, because you kind of scared me yesterday."

"How?" Tony could recall no recent frightening incidents.

"During MarioKart, when Steve handed you the controller. You said you don't like to be handed things, and you looked really anxious when he held it out to you."

"Oh, that. It was nothing really. Just a stupid pet peeve."

"Stupid pet peeves don't make people tense up like that."

Tony knew Parker wasn't going to let up. The kid was too damn observant in the first place, and too damn stubborn to give up now that he'd noticed. Tony sighed and admitted, "My defibrillator fired."

"Isn't that…like, really bad?" Parker asked concernedly.

"Not exactly. It just means my rhythm needed correction, and it got it."

"Did you tell the War Machine about it?"

"No. But I don't really have to, not unless I have symptoms after," Tony assured him.

"Okay, I believe you. But don't make me regret it."

"I won't. Promise." The last thing Tony wanted was for Parker not to trust him. And he wasn't lying; as long as he brought up the incident next time Dr. Rhodes saw him, he was doing exactly as he'd been told to do.

"Why don't you like to be handed things?" Parker asked. "I know you said you didn't really know, but I thought maybe you were just too shy or embarrassed to admit the real reason in front of everybody like I was."

"Parker, you shouldn't feel bad about not wanting to admit your phobias in front of a bunch of people. That's something that takes a ridiculous amount of courage," Tony told him, trying to force the subject away from himself. He didn't have the courage to explain his own fear to the entire group, or even just to Parker.

"Well, everybody else was doing it, and I didn't want to be the lame one who sat out."

"And you didn't sit out. That's gutsy."

"I guess so. Are you excited for Bucky's party?"

"I'm dying to know what Steve and Nat are plotting," Tony said, glad to move on to a brighter topic of conversation.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fun. I heard Steve's one hell of a party planner."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Carol told me. She and Steve were the only kids on the ward over fourth of July last summer, and apparently that's Steve's favorite holiday for some reason. He took it upon himself to decorate the halls and throw a party just for the two of them. He prepared an entire barbecue lunch in the kitchen and convinced the nurses to let them outside long enough to light up some sparklers in the evening. Then he took her to the top floor of the hospital for the best possible view of fireworks."

"That sounds like a fantastic time," Tony admitted, although his first thoughts were of something else entirely. The entire story reeked of chivalry. "It almost sounds…romantic," he said, wondering how accurately Parker had relayed the story from Carol's exact description.

"No, it wasn't like that. He just wanted to make it a fun day since they were the only ones there at the time. Trust me, I know Carol, she would never go for someone like Steve."

Tony's curiosity got the better of him, especially after hearing Parker avow so strongly that he knew Carol. "What was she like?" he blurted out. All he'd heard about this girl, essentially his predecessor at Gravesen, was that she was dead. He wanted a more complete mental picture than that.

"Who, Carol?"

Tony nodded. "I know next to nothing about her, but you mention her all the time."

Parker furrowed his brow in thought for a few moments before deciding where to begin. "You know how Steve is?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just the way he naturally takes care of everybody, takes charge in stressful situations, that kind of thing."

"Yeah."

"Carol was a lot like that. She always stepped up when things got rough. She was so confident all the time, I used to get jealous. She never let anything get her down, mentally. Even right before she died, she was upbeat and a bit snarky as always. She had a practical view of life that not a lot of people can achieve, you know?"

"Yeah."

"She also had some crazy ideas. The gauntlet in the common room? That was all her. She's the one who christened Thanatos."

"I was wondering why hers is the first name on there."

"Yeah, her idea."

"Man, it's crazy to think about the long history of patients that have come in and out of here. The gauntlet already has so many names, and that's less than a year's worth of people."

"Yeah. As fine-tuned as they are, human bodies often suck at being human bodies," Parker remarked.

"Tell me about it. I spent fifteen years minding my own business and then I find out my heart wants to retire early. Why couldn't I get one with a decent work ethic?"

"We all ask ourselves those same kinds of questions on bad days. They're not questions that you ever want answered. Answers in this case only lead to self-loathing." He explained this with a solemnity that only someone who'd repeatedly sought those answers could possess. Too much had happened to this kid in thirteen short years. Tony didn't want to imagine what else could possibly go wrong, and he was reminded of what upset Parker earlier.

"Hey, have you heard any more about Dr. van Dyne's decision about that specialist facility?" Tony asked.

"Oh, yeah. She's not sending me away after all. She was considering it, but...um, in case you haven't picked up on this already, I don't react well to sudden drastic change."

Tony was surprised at just how relieved he felt at this news. He hadn't paused to consider how much Parker meant to him already, but the idea of him leaving had really troubled him, not just because it had make Parker so upset. He decided to tell him as much, "I'm glad you're not leaving."

"Me too."

~0~

Steve and Nat blocked off the common room for the entire morning so they could decorate in secret. Quill convinced Rescue to reschedule his radiation dose so he wouldn't miss the party. There was so little to celebrate around here that she found it impossible to deny him. Tony had never been to any sort of hospital party before, so his curiosity levels were at an all-time high. At one o'clock in the afternoon, the common room was finally unveiled and the residents rushed over to take in the scene it had taken Steve and Natasha so long to construct.

Tony's mouth fell agape at everything they'd managed to accomplish in such a short time. Streamers made of repeated hands in the style of those connected paper stick figures schoolchildren made artfully lined the ceiling. The entire room, usually in a baseline state of disarray due to the endless antics of a dozen odd kids and teens, now looked like a home-furnishing showroom. Somehow the throw pillows had been placed perfectly on the couches—Tony didn't even know there could be a perfect place to put a pillow, but they'd found it. But the most striking element of all was the wall beside the gauntlet.

Tony instantly recognized Steve's work.

He'd covered the entire wall in white paper with central lettering that read, "A Farewell to Arms—" Tony understood the reference despite not being particularly interested in fine literature. The remaining empty space was filled with almost life-sized sketches of all of them—except Bucky—waving goodbye with their left hand. Bucky waved with his right, as his left arm was on the opposite side of the poster, floating all by itself and waving back. The level of detail was unprecedented, the dimensions exact, the lines and shading impeccable. Tony couldn't imagine how Steve managed such a magnificent drawing without them all posing for reference. How long had he been secretly working on this? And how had he hidden such a large piece of work?

"Holy shit, this is incredible!" Bucky exclaimed. He raced up to Steve and Natasha and wrapped both his arms around them, squeezing so tightly Tony thought little Nat's ribs might crunch. "Thank you."

"No problem, Buck," Steve replied. "But loosen your grip a bit…please."

"Sorry. Gotta give all my best hugs before I'm reduced to a permanent half-hugger."

"Hey, you could get a bionic arm and then become the best hugger in the world," Parker pointed out.

"That's it! Guys, Parker's just helped me identify my new lifelong goal: to become the world's best hugger."

"You are already close," Natasha wheezed, still trapped in his embrace.

"And you two are already the best friends a guy could ask for," Bucky replied, finally releasing them completely and turning to the rest of the room and opening his arms. "I can't become the best without practice." Tony smirked and got in line with the rest of the residents to receive a Bucky hug. Even though he was close to last, Bucky didn't show any waning strength. Tony wanted to remind him that some of his ribs had been broken not too long ago, but he didn't have the heart to dampen Bucky's spirit with his own minor issues. He simply disguised the involuntary hiss with laughter as he returned the hug.

"Natasha wasn't kidding, you're already pretty darn good at this," Tony remarked.

"Thanks."

Once that escapade finished, Steve gathered everyone's attention and announced the first activity: a shoe-tying race. Tony stifled a snicker. "We will break up into two teams, and each team will sit in a circle. Each team gets a shoe. When it's your turn you tie the shoe, untie it, and pass it to the next person. First team to have all five people tie the shoe wins."

"Do we get to pick teams?" Thor asked enthusiastically.

"No," Natasha told him. "We divided you. Team One: Bucky, Thor, Clint, Quill, and me. Team Two: Steve, Tony, Bruce, Nick, and Parker." She picked up two identical shoes and handed one off to Steve. The teams circled up and Tony braced himself, flexing his fingers to warm them up. Competition never failed to excite him.

"Oh, one more thing," Steve remarked. "So it's fair, we recruited Happy to do the countdown and referee."

Happy stepped into the room with a smile and started them off, "Ready…set…go!" Tony's attention turned entirely to the shoe making its way around their circle. Steve started and completed the task relatively quickly, passing the shoe immediately to Bruce. Bruce fumbled slightly under the pressure, but handed it off to Nick without significant delay. Based on the orientation of the circle, Tony would receive the shoe second to last and Parker would finish it off. He'd tied shoes hundreds of times, but now that there were stakes it seemed a much more monumental task. He practically hurled the shoe at Parker when he finished and the kid tied with fingers that moved too fast for Tony to follow. He held it in the air triumphantly and shouted, "Done!"

Their circle turned to look at the other, finding Bucky sitting smugly with the shoe in his lap. "You already finished, didn't you?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded smugly. Happy confirmed this statement and proclaimed Bucky's team the victors.

"What do we win?" Bucky asked.

"You get first dibs on what color paper you want for the next thing," Steve explained.

"Which is…?"

"You'll see."

"I'm assuming it's also something which requires two hands."

"You'd be correct."

Steve and Natasha grabbed stacks of construction paper and a bucket full of markers from where they'd stowed them before the party. Steve approached Bucky first and, as promised, let him choose a color. Bucky pulled a light gray sheet out of the stack. Steve and Natasha set the marker bin down on the center of the table and everyone gathered around it like they typically did for a game of Catan. There was enough room for everyone, but barely.

"Will someone please explain what we're doing already?" Nick asked.

"I'm getting strong kindergarten vibes from this setup," Quill remarked.

"Hand turkeys," Natasha stated.

"So it _is_ kindergarten," Nick said sardonically.

"What is that?" Natasha asked.

"It's the first year of school for most American kids. Unless you're me and missed all of it because cancer," Clint explained, adopting an almost sing-song tone for the second half of his statement.

"Kindergarten is when you learn really easy stuff like the alphabet and addition, but it's also a lot of play time and arts and crafts," Parker told her.

"Why do you not call it first year or first grade?"

"First grade comes after kindergarten," Nick added.

"What? Why?"

"The word comes from German," Steve told her. "And I don't know why we don't just start at one, but that's America in a nutshell for you. Never the easy way."

"Anyway, you all know hand turkeys, yes?" she asked, changing the subject. A chorus of yeses sounded from the assembled kids. "Good. Steve taught me yesterday."

"If there's no further questions—" Steve began, only to be cut off by a new arrival in the common room. Every head turned to find the president of the hospital standing in the doorway, barefoot.

"Dr. Lee, can I help you?" Happy inquired.

"Yeah, can I have my shoes back?" he asked, pointing to the abandoned shoes used in the tying race. Happy blanched and grabbed the shoes, handing them back to Dr. Lee with a sheepish grin on his face. Dr. Lee gave a casual wave to the group staring at him in disbelief and marched out.

"What did you do?" Happy questioned suspiciously, whirling around and settling his gaze firmly on Natasha. She smirked.

"Wait, what _did_ you do?" Steve asked in confusion. Natasha only shrugged and turned back to selecting a marker color from the tub. "Did you steal Dr. Lee's shoes? You told me you got those from the Lost and Found."

"We have a lost and found?" Parker said disbelievingly.

"I'm not entirely sure we do," Nick said. "And I thought Steve of all people would know that."

"I didn't know that we _didn't_ have one," Steve defended. "And when Nat told me where she got the shoes I had no reason not to believe her. Wait—how did you steal the shoes from Dr. Lee?"

"I can be sneaky," she said flippantly.

"Now hold on, you can't just leave it at that!" Clint insisted. "How'd you do it?"

She remained resolutely silent on the subject and moved on to delicately tracing her hand. They accepted that further questioning would not get them an answer and turned back to their art projects. Tony hadn't made a hand turkey since even before kindergarten, and in all honesty he might have forgotten how, so he surreptitiously glanced at everyone around him. Okay, so the thumb became the head and the other fingers tail feathers. Simple enough. He was, however, more accustomed to sketching schematics than creating Thanksgiving poultry from his own digits, and he doubted the final product would be anything noteworthy.

"How long did it take you guys to find things like this that only two-handed people can do?" Bucky asked to break the silence of everyone's diligent working.

"Not that long," Steve answered. "There's a disappointingly large quantity of things that require ten fingers to do normally."

"Be glad we scrapped piano lessons," Natasha quipped.

"That is a relief," Clint said. "This is way more fun."

"Everyone, do me a favor and put your name at the bottom of your turkey," Steve said.

"What, so you can shame our inferior art skills?" Tony said.

"No, that's not it at all. I just want everyone to get credit for their beautiful work."

"Sounds a bit patronizing, Steve," Quill told him. "Especially coming from the guy who somehow managed to make an anatomically accurate turkey from a tracing of his own hand." Everyone immediately glanced to Steve's paper where, sure enough, his drawing was leagues ahead of the typical colored blob of a hand turkey. Steve flipped his paper over in embarrassment.

"I have a hobby, okay?"

When everyone finished and autographed their work, Steve collected and laid them all out. The collection of turkeys was rather adorable, all different sizes with everyone bringing a distinct style to their art. Natasha filled in her turkey's feathers in neat stripes of black and red, Bruce adorned his turkey with spectacles and a necktie, Quill's sported an astronaut helmet and a background of stars, and Nick gave his an eyepatch to match his own. Parker added a bunch of hand-drawn smaller turkeys to 'keep him company,' according to him, Clint gave his turkey wide, cartoonish eyes and roadrunner-like legs speeding it away from an unseen enemy, Bucky's balanced on only one skinny bird leg. Thor armed his turkey with a hammer for some reason, Tony adhered to the basics of what one might find in an instruction book for making hand turkeys, and Steve, inevitably, created a masterpiece worthy of the Metropolitan.

"They are beautiful," Natasha remarked. Steve gathered up all the papers and stowed them somewhere safe. Tony wondered what he had in mind for them.

"Now it took a lot of convincing on Natasha's part for me to agree to do this," Steve began, "But now, for your entertainment and enjoyment, we shall commence a dance party."

"What?" Nick sounded completely shocked. Steve had just admitted not long ago that he sucked at dancing and hated it for that very reason.

"Is he serious?" Quill asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. But, this isn't just a free-for-all. I chose specific songs for this very special occasion."

"Of course you did," Parker sighed. "Well, cue the music!"

Steve reluctantly pressed play on his phone and an instantly recognizable tune began. The Macarena. "You're kidding, right?" Tony asked. "Of all songs, you picked this one?"

"This dance requires two arms, Tony," Bucky reminded him, already dancing. "You won't catch me dead doing half a Macarena, so I gotta get it out of my system now!" With a cock of his head, Tony joined in. Natasha looked rather confused, but Clint taught her the moves and she caught on almost instantly. Steve, on the other hand, was doing them both in the wrong order and off tempo. Tony couldn't hide the smirk that erupted on his face. He exchanged a glance with Parker and they both snickered. Once the song concluded, Steve announced one more and they danced the Hokey Pokey like their lives depended on it, all standing in a big circle and laughing without a care in the world. Tony hadn't felt this strong a sense of camaraderie in any previous moment of his entire life. "Welcome to the Grave," Thor had told him, but this right here felt nothing like a tomb. It felt like a family.

When they finished the party by signing Bucky's doomed left arm with a Sharpie like elementary school kids sign a friend's cast, Tony finally understood that they were more than a motley collection of ill-fated kids. They were a team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this is easily one of my favorite chapters in the entire story.


	12. The Danger of Dogs

They took Bucky to surgery early Thursday morning, long before anyone else had woken up. Tony didn't really know what to do to distract him from thinking about how much his friend's life would change. Apparently neither did Steve. He'd abruptly woken Tony up by knocking on his door around nine thirty, though Tony kept this part a secret. The last thing Steve needed right now was to feel bad about waking him.

"I don't understand, Tony, I've done this sort of thing so many times before," Steve sighed in frustration, sitting across from Tony, who was subtly trying to wake himself up. "Why is it still so hard?"

"I don't think things like this can ever get easier," Tony replied. "This is my first time, so I can't speak from experience, but it seems like the sort of thing that's going to be pretty damn hard no matter how much practice you have. Plus, he's been your best friend for almost your entire life. It makes perfect sense that you'd be extra worried about him."

"It's worse than being the one on the table."

"That I can agree with," Tony said. Worrying about other people ate him up inside with more ferocity than worrying about himself ever did. When it was him, Tony needed only worry about his own fate, and maybe his parents'. But with someone like Bucky, Tony worried on behalf of everyone who would be affected if something went wrong, which was a pretty significant number of people.

A few minutes later, Natasha came into Tony's room seeking Steve. She looked positively drained from the past two days of chemo, but at least for the time being she was free of an IV pole. Clearly, she needed the company more than she needed rest. Steve invited her into the chair next to him and wrapped an arm around her slight shoulders. "How are you holding up?" he asked. Tony glanced between the two of them and recognized immediately how Steve made this easier on himself. Comforting someone else distracted him from his own worrying about his best friend. The guy had mother hen tendencies stronger than any Tony had ever seen in a teenage boy. The fact that Natasha, someone so resilient in her own right, relied on him for guidance and reassurance proved the excellence of his 'parenting' skills. Tony wondered if Steve recognized this own tendency within himself, or if he was oblivious to the effect he obviously had on all the other kids in this hospital.

"Where will they put his arm?" Natasha asked innocently.

"That's a good question. I have no idea," Tony admitted. "I'm not very familiar with amputation protocol."

"I asked them if I could keep my eye, maybe put it in a jar of preservatives and keep it on my desk, but they said no," Nick told them as he, too, barged in and took a seat. Tony's room was quickly running out of space for more guests.

"Did you really?" Natasha asked, eyes bright with morbid curiosity.

"I'm not sure I phrased it quite like that since I was six years old at the time, but I do remember asking if I could keep the eye. After all, it was mine to begin with."

"That's creepy, but somehow also ridiculously cool," Tony said.

"Exactly! Although I imagine it would be harder to figure out a way to display a severed arm than an eyeball."

"Definitely."

The door opened once again, and Quill poked his head through to announce, "They brought Rocket and Groot in early!" Tony's heart rose within his chest; the therapy dogs were exactly the kind of distraction they needed from worrying about Bucky. He was ninety percent to standing up from the bed when he realized the downside of this arrangement: Steve was allergic to dogs. If everyone went to play with them, he'd be left all alone with nothing to do but fret. Tony couldn't leave him to that. Evidently, the same thought occurred to Natasha, because she didn't move from her spot next to Steve.

"Are you coming or not?" Quill asked.

"No," Natasha told him. "Steve cannot go and he should not be alone now."

"Nat, I'll be fine. Go play with the dogs for a bit," Steve instructed.

"But—"

"I don't want to hear it. Rocket and Groot will help you feel better more than I ever could."

"I'll keep him company, you go ahead Natasha," Tony said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll make sure he's not lonely." With that, Natasha and Nick followed Quill out in search of the dogs.

"Thank you so much, Tony," Steve said earnestly. "I try not to be mad at my genes for making me the way I am, but man do I wish the allergies were nonexistent. CF is gnarly by itself, but apparently not sufficient torture for one such as myself."

"Torture? That's a strong word," Tony remarked. "Are you suggesting you deserve this?"

"No. I know it's just a genetic thing, random chance. Sometimes it's just hard not to ask myself questions like that. What about you, do you ever feel like it's somehow deserved?"

"Not often. Sometimes I can't help but wonder why it got bad exactly when it did. Nobody had any idea I was sick until that first incident."

"First incident?"

Tony didn't exactly want to relive that terrifying moment of his life, but he recognized that this was exactly what Steve needed to keep his mind occupied on something other than worry. "I went into cardiac arrest at school, in the middle of calculus. I was feeling just a bit off, and then boom. Nothing. Had the story relayed to me by my mom when I woke up in the hospital. Fortunately, my calc teacher, Dr. Yinsen, knew what he was doing and kept me alive long enough for paramedics to arrive. Only after that and a bunch of stupid tests did they figure out why my heart couldn't do its damn job. Turns out I just drew a bad lot from the gene pool."

"Well, that much I can relate to. They test all babies for CF nowadays, so I've never not known I was sick. We would have found out pretty soon anyway, since it's obvious my lungs don't work right."

"Really? I never noticed," Tony joked.

"Hilarious."

"Sometimes it feels impossible to reconcile with the fact that there's nothing we can do about it," Tony sighed. Often, he felt an overwhelming desire to return to the way things used to be, before his heart mistakenly sent itself the memo that the last lap was approaching. But whenever he found himself trapped in that mindset, he opened his phone and scrolled through the list of members in the group chat, all new friends that he never would have met otherwise. Would he really trade his health for the opportunity to meet such amazing people? Probably not. He rather thought Steve felt the same way.

"Yeah, for some more than others. I long ago accepted this as who I am and I'm way past trying to assign blame, but not everyone is so adaptable."

"Parker still blames himself," Tony blurted out. It definitely wasn't his place to share information like that, but Steve probably knew everything Tony did about the boy and more.

"When did he say that?"

"A while ago he came in freaking out because he thought he overheard Dr. van Dyne plotting to send him away to another facility. He's convinced that his illness is somehow less extreme than any of ours because it's purely psychological."

"That's bullshit," Steve spat. "If anything, that makes it worse. He has seen the gauntlet, right? He has it tougher than any of us."

"Yeah. I tried to tell him that, but I'm not entirely sure he bought it. I know very little about his life before Gravesen, but from what I've been able to gather from various conversations it was pretty rough."

"That's an understatement."

"Do you know? Everything that…happened?" Tony asked.

"I do."

"But it's not your place to say," Tony said automatically. He didn't want to destroy any trust between Steve and Parker by condoning Steve spilling the boy's backstory without his consent.

"No, it's not. But I'm sure he'd tell you if you asked."

"I don't want to ask that up front. I try not to be a nosy person, and I'm sure he doesn't want to relive any trauma more than he already has to with his counselors."

"That's very mature of you. I always wanted to know everything about everyone the second they showed up here."

"Even me?" Tony questioned.

"Yeah, of course."

"I don't remember you grilling me for information when we first met."

"That's because you looked scared out of your socks! I thought if I asked anything of you you'd crack right down the middle."

"Hey!"

"It's true. But you've adjusted well. You look like you belong now."

"Well that's a relief." Tony had mixed feelings about being told he looked like he belonged in a hospital. On the one hand, he was finally an integral part of a group of people, something he'd never really been before but always wanted to be. On the other hand, a hospital was one of the worst possible places to belong to, barring maybe an extremist cult.

"I don't remember the last time this place didn't feel like a second home," Steve admitted.

"As far as second homes go, you could get a lot worse. The food's decent," Tony joked.

"Yeah, it's not bad. Though I suppose I could just ask my nutritionist to double my night feeds if it wasn't."

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, did I never tell you about that? I coulda sworn I mentioned it."

"Mentioned what?"

"I have a feeding tube," he explained nonchalantly.

"Why? You can eat normally, can't you?"

"Yeah, I can eat. I just can't digest normally. CF does more than just muck up lungs; it gets the pancreas too. I have to take enzymes whenever I eat so that I can actually digest, and even then it's not enough. Gotta do tube feeds at night to get adequate nutrition."

"You have to eat normally…and tube feed for nutrition, and you still…" Tony trailed off, unwilling to state his observation aloud for fear it would upset Steve.

"I still look like I haven't seen a proper meal in ages?" Tony nodded. "Yeah, it's unfortunate. Believe me, I wish I could put on some weight, but it's not that easy for me. They put the tube in when I was six because I nearly stopped growing entirely."

"Wow. That's...a lot. Here I was thinking my treatment regimen was complex."

Steve shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"You get used to many new things when you are sick," Natasha said from the doorway, returned from the therapy dog playdate.

"Oh, hey Natasha," Tony said. "How were the dogs?"

"I think they know something is up," she informed them. "They are clingy today." She plopped back down in her seat beside Steve.

"They can probably smell the stress in the air," Steve commented.

"Or just the lack of Bucky," Tony suggested. "Maybe they noticed he wasn't there to pet them too."

"You know, I read an article that some dogs are trained to sniff out cancer. They can detect it earlier than most medical means and give the patient a much better chance of survival."

"That's amazing. Is there anything dogs can't do?"

"Talk," Natasha stated. Steve playfully shoved her for the stupid comment, and she retaliated with equal force despite her smaller size.

"They can't see the color red," Tony added.

"What a shame. It is best color."

"I'm sure the dogs don't mind," Steve said, adjusting his oxygen cannula. "If they can't smell it, it's not important."

"Makes sense," Tony said. "I heard a bloodhound can still track down a person even if they have a twelve day head start."

"That is long."

"Yeah. Remind me never to go on the run for committing a crime…" Tony trailed off, gaze leaping to the hand Steve just clutched to his chest. "You need to turn that flow rate up, Steve?"

"Yeah…maybe," he spluttered. The hairs on the back of Tony's neck stood up as he recognized the breathlessness behind Steve's speech. Breathlessness never boded well in anybody, but in Steve?

"Steve, what do you need me to do?" Tony asked urgently.

"Probably…inhaler…and…nurse?" He took more time between words to gulp down air. Tony didn't know where his inhaler was, but he didn't want to make Steve put in effort to tell him when it was clear he needed every ounce of oxygen he could get. Shoulders hunched and back tight, Steve looked like he was using every muscle in his body to wrench in air. How had this come on so quickly?

"Nat, do you know where his inhaler is?" Tony asked, frantic. She nodded tightly, and he shooed her off to go find it. "Steve, just hang in there, it's gonna be okay." Tony smashed his own call button, knowing what he'd just said to his friend was stupidly inadequate. He looked back and bit his lip upon seeing the blue tinge spreading in Steve's lips. Tony hadn't calculated the average response time to a call button, but watching Steve deteriorate while waiting for help made him mentally write a note to tell them to work on their punctuality.

"What's going on?" Peggy asked, authoritatively bursting into the room.

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "One minute he was fine and the next he was like this." Natasha chose that instant to return with Steve's inhaler. Peggy took one look between her and Steve and snatched the device from Nat's hand. She coached Steve through inhaling the medication and stood back for a moment, biting her lip. Steve looked up at her, panic in his eyes, and shook his head. Natasha edged closer to Tony and he could practically feel her trembling beside him.

"Maria!" Peggy called. "I need the neb in Stark's room, stat!" Just as Peggy eased Steve onto Tony's bed, Maria stormed in with the necessary supplies. Working in tandem, they switched out Steve's oxygen cannula for a full mask to force more meds down into his lungs. Tony and Natasha watched helplessly from the sidelines as Peggy jabbed him with what Tony assumed was epinephrine. They all watched with bated breath as Steve wrestled with his own lungs. The blue hue in his lips had only intensified, and Tony didn't notice any difference in his breathing. If anything, it seemingly continued to worsen.

Maria agreed with his assessment and stated, "It's not helping." Tony thought he saw Steve roll his eyes at the obvious statement, but it was actually him passing out from hypoxia. Natasha squeaked in terror. Tony blanched when he saw Peggy procure endotracheal tube supplies. He glanced between Steve and Natasha once and knew under no circumstances could he subject Nat—or himself—to watching what was about to happen. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out of his room and towards anywhere but here. He took her to Clint's, knowing his company would ease Natasha's mind as much as anybody's. From there, he took himself to Parker's.

"What's going on?"

"Steve—Steve is in trouble," Tony stuttered.

"What? What happened?" Parker urged him.

"I don't know. I think it's his asthma, but I don't know what would have triggered it. He didn't go see the dogs."

"Was anybody with him who did?"

Tony's stomach launched itself into his throat. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, Natasha came back to my room with us after she went to see them."

"And did she go near him?"

"Yeah."

"She probably had dog fur all over her. It doesn't take much to trigger Steve's asthma; he's insanely sensitive."

"Why didn't I think of that? I'm an idiot!"

"Tony, it's not your fault. I'm surprised Steve didn't move away, he's usually good about avoiding allergens."

"Well, he's a bit distracted with Bucky and everything."

"Oh man, I didn't even think about that. That's horrible."

"Yeah. Circumstances are not lining up for us today, are they?"

"No they are not. Are you doing okay? No…skipping beats?" Parker asked, eyeing Tony's chest.

"No, my defib hasn't fired. Though I'm honestly surprised it hasn't."

"Where's Nat?"

"With Clint."

"Good. How did she react?"

"She was her usual terrified but trying not to show it."

"What were they doing with him when you left?"

"Looked like intubation," Tony stated.

"Oh man," Parker muttered. Now he was pacing across the floor. "We'd better hear back about Bucky soon, because I can't handle worrying to death about two friends at the same time." Tony regretted coming to Parker. He'd dumped more anxiety on the poor kid's shoulders, and from the looks of things the weight of it might crush his fragile bones. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word Happy peeked his head in the door.

"Bucky's up, and he's asking for you."


	13. Monodextrous

Tony and Parker followed Happy to post-op. The entire time Tony tried to figure out a way to break the news about Steve to Bucky, because he knew Bucky would ask about him. There was no way Steve would miss seeing his best friend for any reason other than being indisposed. His train of through in this direction halted when he actually caught sight of the boy.

Tony had never been invited to see anyone so fresh out of anesthesia, so he had no expectations. As sick as Bucky looked on a regular basis, he looked that much sicker right now. Not even the shoulder of his left arm remained, a bandaged stump the only thing indicating it was ever there. With nowhere else to go, all the monitoring equipment instead crowded his right arm: blood pressure cuff, IV line, and pulse oximeter, leaving him no freedom. It all made him look so much smaller. His skin was a pasty gray hue, and the shine in his eyes instantly dimmed when he recognized that Steve wasn't here. A couple that must have been his parents smiled at Tony and Parker's arrival, promised Bucky they'd return soon, and exited.

"Hey Buck," Parker greeted cautiously.

"Where's Steve?" Bucky asked immediately, voice hoarse and rough. Tony knew there was no chance they would evade that question, though he'd hoped they'd get a little more time to figure out how to phrase things before Bucky demanded an answer of them. When nobody moved to answer, Bucky repeated himself with more urgency.

Tony bit the bullet and just told him, "Bucky, he had an asthma attack."

His eyes reignited, this time with fear. "Is he okay?"

Tony wanted to say yes. He really, really wanted to say yes, probably more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. But the fact of the matter was he didn't even know for sure that Steve was still alive. Anything could have happened in the interval between Tony's departure from the room and now. Their silence wasn't a sufficient answer for Bucky, who glared at them with a ferocity Tony didn't even know could come from someone who'd had his arm chopped off so recently.

"We don't know. Last I saw of him he was being intubated," Tony said, defeated. This was certainly not the kind of conversation Bucky should be participating in fresh out of surgery, but he'd left them no choice.

"Shit," Bucky grumbled, gripping the sheets below him with his one remaining hand. "I have to leave him alone for a few hours to have a stupid surgery, and he goes and wheezes out on me."

Tony didn't know what to say. Neither did Parker. He stood in silence, watching the first tear track its way down Bucky's cheek. Parker wasn't far behind; Tony heard him sniffle mere seconds later. Tony stood paralyzed with indecision and panic. What could he do? What could _anyone_ feasibly do in this situation? Steve would know.

He straightened his shoulders and stepped up. Tony took Bucky's lone hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Everything's gonna be okay," he assured. It should feel like a lie, or at least an under-evidenced truth, but it didn't. It felt like the truth. "Listen, I haven't known Steve nearly as long as you all have but I'm pretty sure he's not going to let an asthma attack take him down. Especially not when he owes you a visit."

"I'm gonna smack him so hard he'll be able to skip a vest treatment," Bucky vowed.

"That's the spirit."

~0~

When Tony finally did see Steve again, he regretted encouraging Bucky's proposed physical abuse. Hearing that he was alive had been a massive relief, but actually observing made Tony realize just how close a call it had been. The haggardness in Peggy's eyes when she informed him of Steve's survival told him more than he wanted to know about the toll it had taken. Tony went alone, fearing that Natasha would tear herself apart with guilt if she saw the aftermath of her neglecting to avoid Steve after visiting the dogs. It certainly wasn't her fault, but Tony knew she would blame herself regardless of how much fault was actually due.

Steve opened his eyes when Tony entered, though he couldn't tell if he'd awakened him or simply drawn his attention from his own thoughts. He also doubted that being awake was preferable for Steve in this state. Steve's mouth twisted uncomfortably around the tube still down his throat, but he looked to Tony with hope in his eyes.

"Bucky's fine. He's just worried about you now," Tony informed him, knowing exactly the topic Steve wanted to hear about from him. Steve fixed him with an injured glare. Tony marveled at how clearly he managed to communicate without uttering a word and sighed, "Yes, I told him what happened. There's no way he would have let me leave the room without explaining why you weren't there like you promised."

Steve averted his eyes, looking ashamed. "It's not your fault you couldn't be there, Steve, don't beat yourself up. Bucky's already got that covered. He vowed to smack you." Steve's eyes rolled mirthfully and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a hint of a smile. "He's gonna go through with it too, if I were you'd I'd stick mostly to his left side unless you want a nice big bruise." Nodding weakly, Steve glanced sadly to the empty space to Tony's left. "Nat's in Clint's room." Steve shook his head, indicating Tony was wrong. He gestured vaguely to the port on his chest, and Tony finally remembered Nat had chemo four consecutive days a week, which included today. They probably took her for her infusion not long after Tony dumped her with Clint. He gritted his teeth and sighed; the last thing the poor girl needed today was a dose of physical misery to add to all the mental she'd already experienced with Bucky and Steve. Tony refocused and told Steve, "I'm really sorry about the whole dog thing, I should have realized we weren't being careful enough." Steve waved a hand at him dismissively. Tony expected the lack of blame, though he still admired Steve's ability to avoid holding a grudge when this could have been easily prevented if one of them had thought it through just a tad more. He wasn't sure he would be able to do the same if their roles were reversed.

"Steve, I was afraid you might die," Tony admitted. The terror of that moment surpassed any Tony had ever felt in his life, including the multiple times his own heart had stopped. His need to escape the situation had been equaled only by his terror-induced paralysis. Without Natasha there to draw his focus, he probably would have stood there dumbly until someone forcibly dragged him out or he collapsed to the floor. "I mean, you said you had bad asthma and even dust could kill you, but I thought you were exaggerating," Tony huffed nervously. Steve's condition had always seemed so well managed compared to everyone else's. Thor could collapse and seize at any given moment, Tony too if it weren't for his new ICD, and the cancer kids had their own slew of unpredictable side effects to deal with. But Steve was always in control, never deviating from his maintenance routines and having the energy to spare to deal with everyone else's problems. Witnessing his fallibility really rattled Tony in ways he couldn't fully understand or explain.

Steve shook his head ever so slightly and looked at Tony gloomily. Tony inquired, "How many asthma attacks this bad have you had, in your entire life?" Steve shakily held up four fingers. "Including this one?" His thumb popped up to join the rest, making five fingers total. Tony sighed in exasperation. Although he supposed that wasn't too bad a track record for a fifteen-year-old, that averaged to only one every three years. Still more often than anyone should have to suffer like that.

"We would all be a lot less stressed if we didn't care about each other so damn much," Tony remarked. "I've half a mind to pretend you all don't exist just so I don't have to worry all the time." Steve replied with half a smirk, but looked at Tony earnestly. They both knew neither of them was capable of doing that. As Tony said, they cared too damn much.

~0~

Bucky recovered enough to be up and about before Steve. Apparently with lungs as weak as Steve's, getting off of a ventilator once on it was rather difficult. He was making good progress, but his pulmonologist Dr. Erskine didn't want to rush anything for fear it would make matters worse in the long run. Bucky took a little while to rediscover his balance now that he'd lost eight pounds off his left side, but once he found that rhythm he had little issue with mobility. The first place he went was to see Steve. Tony didn't follow, but deduced from the look on Bucky's face when he returned that he'd said and seen whatever he needed to.

"Everything good?" Tony asked, just to be sure.

"Super," Bucky quipped back.

"Whatcha got going on the rest of the day?"

"OT. Gotta learn how to live monodextrously for the foreseeable future."

"Are you eventually going to get a prosthetic?" Tony asked.

"I haven't decided yet. Even if I do, it won't be able to do much since I have no residual limb." Tony was surprised; he thought everyone who endured amputation eventually worked their way up to a prosthetic, but he supposed in Bucky's case the effort might not be worth it. Tony couldn't even visualize how a prosthetic might attach without strapping around Bucky's entire torso.

"Totally up to you," Tony said, not knowing what else to say.

"From now on, you will know me as the one-handed wonder. Everything I accomplish I will accomplish single-handedly."

"Sounds like a superhero name."

"I don't exactly look the part of superhero."

"None of us do."

"Maybe we just need the right costumes."

"Yeah, living in sweatpants and T-shirts doesn't exactly scream heroism," Tony remarked.

"That's why I think it's stupid that the media calls us 'warriors' and shit. We're no stronger than the average person, it just so happens the universe has screwed us over enough to force us to tap into that strength."

"I guess you're right," Tony said hesitantly.

"It's like getting dragged into a back alley and mugged, surviving only because of instinctual self-defense."

"I can't say I've ever thought about it like that, but it makes sense." Bucky always seemed to have a lot of opinions about the way the world was run, most of them cynical. Tony supposed cynicism was a foreseeable side effect of cancer. "But you are allowed to give yourself more credit than that," he added. Bucky might never admit to it, but at least the way Tony saw it, he was mentally stronger than most people. He just lost an entire arm and was joking about it, for God's sake.

"Hey, I told Natasha I'd help her with a project, wanna come?" he asked. His changing of the subject seemed forcefully intentional.

"Sure. What's the project?"

"She's tailoring some of my hoodies."

"Natasha knows how to tailor?" Tony asked as they headed towards her room.

"Apparently."

"Why do your hoodies need tailoring, anyway?"

"Take a guess," Bucky monotoned, glaring at Tony.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They arrived at Natasha's room, where she was already hard at work with a needle and thread on Bucky's Camp McCoy sweatshirt.

"I still can't believe you went to summer camp in Wisconsin," Tony said upon seeing the sweatshirt which he recognized as one Bucky wore almost every day. He seemingly alternated it with his 'I love NY' one—which he'd bought ironically, as he reminded anyone who commented on it.

"My dad grew up going there, so I did too. I didn't really have a choice."

"Was it nice?"

"No," Bucky said bluntly, offering no further commentary on the subject. "How's it going, Nat?"

"Almost all done," she replied. Tony glanced to her left at the long sleeve of the sweatshirt lying innocently on the floor all by itself. She'd cut it off the hoodie, Tony now understood, so it wouldn't flop around bonelessly when Bucky wore it without an arm to fill it in.

"Did you chop off the right arm?" he asked. Natasha blanched and froze. She shook her head with miniscule, strained movement indicating near panic.

"I did not chop right arm," she admitted.

"I told you which arm to do, how could you do the wrong one?"

"You said left, not right!"

"Oh, wait a minute." Bucky instantly realized his mistake. Natasha had confused the two meanings of the word 'right.' "Yeah, I did say left arm. Is that the one you did?" Natasha nodded insistently. "Then you did it correct," Bucky assured her, taking care not to use a word with another conflicting meaning.

"Good." She grabbed scissors and clipped off the remaining thread before tossing the hoodie to Bucky. He caught it and slid it on over his tank top—he hadn't worn anything with a sleeve that could flap around since the surgery—taking extra care not to disturb the bandages over his stump. Natasha had chopped the left sleeve off of the hoodie and expertly sewn the hole shut so it looked like there'd never been a sleeve there at all.

"You like?" she asked hesitantly.

"I love it," Bucky replied. "Thank you so much." This certainly looked less startling than an empty sleeve hanging at his side would have looked. Tony wondered if Bucky would have this same job done to all of his shirts. If he did, it would mean he'd abandoned any intention of ever using a prosthetic. "How long did it take?" he asked, admiring her nearly invisible, perfectly aligned stitches.

"Twenty minutes," she shrugged.

"Where'd you learn how to sew so well?" Tony inquired.

"Mama."

"Where'd you get the sewing kit?" Bucky asked.

"Happy."

"Happy sews?"

"No. He is nurse. He sutures. They are very similar."

"You fixed my hoodie with a suturing kit?"

Natasha nodded. "Problem?"

"No. That's just really cool."

"Agreed," Tony said.

"Can I do other ones?" Natasha asked, indicating the second hoodie and a few other shirts Bucky must have given her earlier.

"Sure. Can we hang out in here while you work? I'd like to see you in action."

She nodded with the barest hint of a proud smile and picked up the other hoodie. Tony and Bucky sat down and watched as she masterfully snipped the sleeve off.

"My arts and crafts days are pretty much over," Bucky sighed.

"That's not completely true," Tony reminded him. "You might not be able to knit or anything crazy, but I'll bet you can still draw. You are right-handed, aren't you?"

"Yeah, of course. Even if I wasn't I would have to become one within the next few weeks. And I've always sucked at drawing. Steve's the artist."

"How is Steve?" Natasha asked without looking up from her work. She still hadn't been in to see him since he'd suffered the asthma attack.

"They're weaning him off the ventilator now," Tony explained. "I think they're extubating him tomorrow if all goes as planned."

"Good. I will not see dogs again after that."

"Nat, I'm sure Steve's not going to make you skip therapy dog day just because of an accident."

"He will not. I will. I do not want to put him at risk," she insisted. Tony knew Steve would try to change her mind as soon as he heard about this plan, though he wasn't sure which of them was more stubborn.

"He doesn't blame you," Bucky assured her. "It was nobody's fault."

"Lies."

"No, it's not a lie. Everybody was off their game because of me, no single person is responsible for what happened, especially not you."

She didn't contradict them again, but nor did she verbally acknowledge her innocence. They'd shelve the discussion for a later time, when Steve could participate. If anyone could convince her she did nothing wrong, it was Steve.

~0~

That evening, Tony ran into Bucky again in the bathroom. He watched the boy hold the handle of his toothbrush in his mouth while using his one hand to apply toothpaste. He flipped the cap closed, put the tube down, and started brushing as usual. "OT tips?" Tony asked knowingly. Bucky nodded. There were probably so many little things people took for granted that Bucky would have to relearn how to do. Brushing one's teeth was just one of many trivial tasks that Tony didn't think twice about doing but probably required immense effort and practice for someone with limb difference.

Bucky spit into the sink and washed up. "I dare you to try it like that," he said to Tony. Never one to back down from a challenge, Tony held his left hand behind his back while he attempted to work the twist cap off the toothpaste with only his right hand. Bucky, smartly, had a flip top on his to make it easier. Tony managed to get it off and had to cross his eyes to see the end of the toothbrush held in his mouth. It wasn't quite as difficult as he'd feared it might be, but still rather unnatural. After a few tries, he managed to get the cap back on single-handedly.

"Not bad," Bucky remarked. "Just be glad you won't have to do it like that every time for the rest of your life."


	14. The Real Villains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the author's note at the end when you get there for some important news

Everything did go as planned, and Erskine gave the go-ahead to free Steve from the ventilator that morning. Bucky and Tony visited a few hours after that. "Bucky, I'm so sorry," were the first words out of his mouth, his voice hoarse and reedy from disuse.

"Don't you dare apologize, you idiot," Bucky scolded.

"I gave you one more thing to worry about on top of the most stressful day of your life."

"It really wasn't all that stressful. I slept through most of it."

"Well, now that you're awake and I'm not bed-ridden, I can finally show you what I've been working on." Steve ushered them to Bucky's room and told them to wait while he retrieved it. "Close your eyes," he prompted before leaving and returning with whatever it was. Tony heard paper rustling and wondered what Steve had drawn for Bucky this time. He didn't think anything could top the beautiful poster from the farewell to arms party. "Okay, open them."

Tony kept his eyes shut, listening for Bucky's reaction. He certainly didn't expect the boy to squeal, "Awwww," and so he immediately looked for himself. Steve had turned the hand turkeys they made at the party into a collage. Their unique drawings and signatures all pieced together into one beautiful unit.

"What do you think?" Steve asked hopefully.

"I love it," Bucky stated. "It's fantastic. But you're going to have to help me hang it up."

"Of course."

Steve and Tony, with Bucky's guidance from a distance ensuring it remained level, tacked up the collage on Bucky's wall. They stepped back to admire their handiwork and almost missed the hiss of pain from behind them.

"What's wrong?" Steve immediately asked, turning to face his friend.

"Just phantom pain." Bucky waved off their concern. "It's been steadily building since yesterday, but I'm fine."

"Is there anything to be done for it?" Tony asked.

"Nah. Meds don't really help and the wound's too fresh to massage it. I just gotta tough it out."

"So what I'm hearing is that a distraction is in order."

"That would be nice, yeah. What've you got in mind?"

"Absolutely nothing," Tony admitted. "But I'm not the only brain on this ward capable of generating ideas."

"To the common room?" Steve suggested.

"To the common room," Bucky and Tony echoed. They made their way down the hall and as they approached heard some animated conversation going on behind the door. Upon entering, they discovered Parker, Nick, Clint, and Natasha deeply invested in MarioKart. So invested, in fact, that none of them noticed the three new arrivals. Bucky decided to take advantage of this newfound stealth and snuck up behind Nick, who sat closest to the door. The boy's eye didn't stop staring intently at the screen even as Bucky grew dangerously close. Tony held his breath in anticipation of Nick's reaction as Bucky reached out his only hand and tapped Nick on the shoulder.

"Motherfucker!" he exclaimed, nearly falling off the couch in his fright. Bucky erupted with laughter. Distraction achieved, Tony thought. Nick's car promptly crashed and he lost his lead in the race. By this point, the other players noticed that something was amiss and paused the game.

"Steve!" Natasha stood from the couch and rushed over, embracing him as if they'd been apart for weeks instead of mere days. "I made mistake, I am sorry you got sick because of me."

"Stop that," Steve insisted. "Nat, it's not your fault. I get asthma attacks sometimes, there's nothing anyone can do about that."

"But I was not careful."

"Neither was I. I'm okay now, that's all that matters."

"Okay," she sighed.

Tony watched Parker's gaze flit between the screen and Bucky. They both simultaneously realized that having the game on might make him feel bad, knowing he couldn't really participate anymore. Parker moved to turn the system off, but Bucky noticed and immediately put a stop to it, "Don't turn your game off. I had my moment of sweet victory, watching you all play isn't going to be a hardship."

"Are you sure?" Parker asked.

"Of course."

Steve, Tony, and Bucky settled on the couch to watch the conclusion to the race. Nick never recovered his lead after Bucky startled him, and Parker ended up winning handedly. The six of them rotated turns for a while, switching up the players while the rest watched on with Bucky. Tony noticed that by the third race, Bucky was looking decidedly glum. He may have said it didn't bother him, but Tony could tell it pained him to watch them all enjoy an activity they used to do together that he couldn't anymore. During one of his races, Tony took his left hand off the controller for a few seconds, just to see if it was possible. It wasn't impossible, but it was plenty awkward and he doubted he could last an entire race like that, much less win one. The controller required two hands. Then, an idea occurred to him, one that would result in Bucky's inclusion in this group activity. Yes, the game required two hands, but did they have to be from the same person?

"I have an idea," Tony announced after the race concluded with a Natasha victory.

"Go ahead," Nick prompted.

"What if we played together? You know, share a controller between two people."

"Why would we do that?" Clint asked.

"For an extra challenge. And to build teamwork," Tony said. He didn't want to outright say it was just a way that Bucky could play. He didn't want him to feel like a burden.

"Sounds like fun," Parker said. "Do we get to choose our partners?"

"Sure, why not?" Tony said. Bucky eyed him knowingly and mouthed a silent 'thank you,' before turning to Steve and requesting his partnership. Clint and Natasha instantly drifted toward each other, Nick proclaimed he was tired of playing and would rather watch, plus they had an odd number. Which left Tony and Parker, who smiled upon realizing who his driving mate would be.

"So, how's this going to work?" Steve asked.

"Each person puts one hand on the controller. You have to choose who's going to be left and who's going to be right."

"Can I be left?" Bucky asked genuinely. He paused just long enough to confuse everybody before saying, "Just kidding."

"I thought so," Steve sighed. Nick watched on as the three teams set about holding the controller between the two of them. The next race was drowned out by near-constant shouts of "You're doing it wrong!" "No, turn that way!"

"Bucky, I feel like you're not letting me do anything," Steve complained.

"You have one hand on wheel, you can still steer," Natasha told him sternly.

"Not when his one arm is stronger than mine and he's counteracting my every move."

"I am not!" Bucky insisted.

"Then why haven't we turned the way I want to go one time during this whole thing?"

"Shut up," Clint growled. Tony glanced their way and found Clint and Natasha had their free arms wrapped around each other so they could sit closer and not hold the controller at such an awkward angle. It was a good strategy, though he doubted Parker would be willing to do the same with him.

"What the hell did I just walk in on?" Thor's confused voice sounded from the door.

"Yeah, what the heck?" Quill asked.

"Just finding innovative ways to adjust to Bucky's…" Tony found himself unable to decide how to finish that sentence.

"Disability," Bucky chimed in.

"Yeah, that."

"MarioKart in partners?" Quill didn't sound convinced.

"Yeah. It's harder than it looks," Steve remarked. "Especially when your partner is a wheel hog."

"Don't direct your road rage at me," Bucky countered. "Run Tony and Parker off the side of the track instead."

"Hey!" Parker cried as Bucky and Steve's Bowser did just that to his and Tony's Mario.

"I want in," Thor announced. "Quill, will you be my partner?"

"Only if I get to be in charge."

"It's a partnership, nobody's in charge," Clint reminded them.

"Unless you're Bucky, apparently," Steve quipped.

"We will both be equally in charge," Thor said.

"Alright." Quill and Thor waited for the current race to finish. All of them finished well behind their usual placement; the computer-controlled characters completely dominated the shaky first-time partnerships. Of the three teams playing, Clint and Natasha were furthest ahead. Tony already suspected they shared brainwaves or something, and this only reinforced that belief.

"Now this'll be really interesting," Nick remarked, still eagerly spectating.

"Tony, we should sit closer together." Parker nudged Tony's shoulder as he suggested this. "This way we don't have to hold it so far away."

"Okay," Tony acquiesced, surprised that Parker had initiated such a request. Sure enough, the position of the controller was much less awkward with less space in between them. The next round, he and Parker's coordination much improved. They didn't have to verbally announce their intentions at every turn. It was a close race between them and Clint and Natasha, but in the end Tony and Parker edged them out thanks to a well-timed shell launched by Quill and Thor.

"I don't know why we didn't play like that before, that was fun," Clint said excitedly.

"It felt more like an exercise for couples' therapy," Quill retorted.

"And what's wrong with that?" Parker asked.

"Nothing, I guess."

"That was fantastic," Bucky remarked. "Thanks for coming up with the idea, Tony."

"You're welcome."

"Yeah, great idea," Steve contributed.

"If you could also come up with a genius way for me to do up zippers, it would be much appreciated," Bucky said.

Tony chuckled. "I'll work on it."

~0~

They spent the rest of the day in the common room, enjoying this rare moment of them all being together. It was a bigger crowd than could usually assemble, given that many of them had their free time restricted by chemo doses, psych sessions, and various other treatments, the aftermath of which often left them in no shape to tolerate company or high levels of activity.

Several more rounds of cooperative MarioKart occurred, and they occasionally switched up the teams to make it more interesting. Tony quickly learned he and Nick did not mesh well when it came to video games. In fact, even after playing several rounds with other partners, Tony realized he performed best when paired with Parker. When everyone tired of racing, they decided to put on a movie.

"Any requests?" Steve asked, standing in front of the cabinet that housed Gravesen's formidable DVD collection.

"Terminator!" Bucky called.

"Buck, you know this is a children's ward. They don't even let us have PG-13 titles."

"I know. I'm just craving something with action in it."

"Me too," Thor chimed in. Steve scanned the extensive rows of disks before settling on one. He popped it in and reclaimed his spot on the couch. For whatever reason, they always drifted towards the same chair or sofa cushion. Nobody had ever claimed or assigned seats, but they naturally selected one for themselves and stuck to it. Tony wondered who used to sit where he did now, between Parker and Quill, before he arrived here.

"What'd you pick?" Parker asked Steve.

"The Incredibles."

"Disney animation meets the politics of superheroing. Not a bad choice," Tony remarked. He didn't expect a casual movie screening like this to be dead silent like in a theater, but he didn't expect quite the amount of commentary that ensued.

"Frankly I think it's ridiculous they made superheroes illegal," Steve remarked. "I mean, who's going to protect everybody?"

"I think the point is that the people want to decide for themselves when they want protection and from whom," Tony explained.

"I don't think I could handle being a superhero in hiding like that," Parker stated. "I would end up using my powers all the time."

"Yeah, I don't think a secret identity would really suit me either," Tony remarked.

"What do you think they told the car insurance people about what happened to the window?" Bucky asked sarcastically after Mr. Incredible smashed the window of his tiny car in a fit of rage.

"If you could be one of these guys, who do you think you'd be?" Clint asked.

"Mr. Incredible," Thor and Steve immediately answered.

"Elastigirl," Natasha said.

"Honestly I relate the most to Syndrome," Tony admitted.

"But he's the bad guy," Parker countered.

"I know, but he's the most realistic. If I really set my mind to it I could build cool tech or a giant killer robot. I wouldn't send it to attack a city to stage myself as a hero, but something like that could be useful!"

"Guys, if New York gets attacked by a hostile robot in the near future, at least we'll know who sent it," Bucky said. "Don't think we won't sell you out, Tony."

"That's nice to know."

"Who would you be, Nick?" Steve asked.

"Frozone," he deadpanned.

"Oh yeah. I've seen this movie probably three or four times already and that scene with his wife gets me every time," Quill said.

"Honey, where's my super suit?!" they all quoted in unison, erupting into joyful laughter. When the movie concluded, a double feature with Incredibles 2 was suggested, but then Maria waltzed in to inform them of their impending curfew. Tony doubted any of them could really stay awake for another two hours. All the activity had worn out their limited energy reserves. That night, Tony dreamed of superheroes and giant killer robots, wondering why anyone dreamed up villains when some of the worst horrors imaginable were completely real and happened right here every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so my goal is to write separate prequels for some of the major characters. Each one will delve into their life before Gravesen and the events leading up to the beginning of this story. Let me know which characters you most want to see so I can prioritize my writing and posting schedule.


	15. The Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your suggestions. I am continually working on prequels as this story is being published, and you've given me a good idea of which are the most highly-anticipated. Parker and Natasha were clear fan-favorites. As we near the end of this story-which won't be for a while, we're just getting started-I might start sharing little teasers. We'll see. By the time I'm through with writing everything I want to, this alternate universe might be almost as intricate and extensive as the actual MCU.

"Why does the Ancient One keep looking at the clock?" Bucky asked, leaning over to whisper to Steve. Tony just happened to overhear, eager to listen to anything besides the day's lesson. After the glee of last weekend, school seemed much more boring by comparison.

"That's odd. She's never distracted like that."

"Do you think she's okay? Is she waiting for something?"

"I don't know what she'd be waiting for. We're the only ones who count down the seconds until we can leave."

"What's up?" Tony asked, giving up on foregoing active participation in this conversation.

"She keeps glancing at the clock like it's a ticking time bomb," Bucky remarked. Tony watched and, sure enough, three times in the span of five minutes her eyes flitted to the clock on the opposite wall. She lectured with far less intensity than normal, as if her mind was elsewhere.

Bruce, concerned as he was about everything in general, cut the tension and straight up interrupted to ask, "Is everything all right, ma'am?"

"Yes, of course," she responded curtly.

"You just seem a bit distracted."

"Apologies. Now, back to the matter at hand." She launched right back into lecturing, but not without another glance to the clock. Towards the end of their lesson, the reason for her preoccupation presented itself in the form of a strange visitor. Every head in the room turned to the door as a figure in navy blue scrubs strode in with the confidence of someone who'd been here all his life and marched straight up to the Ancient One. The students held their breath, having never seen anyone approach her with so little trepidation. Tony watched Steve's mouth actually fall open in shock when the stranger wrapped his arms around their teacher and hugged her like a son would hug his mother.

"What the fuck is going on?" Bucky whispered to them.

"I have no clue," Tony replied, excessively drawing out the 'no' for emphasis. This was by far the strangest thing he'd ever witnessed in this hospital, and he'd once seen stringent Bruce tack an extra ten minutes onto his walk.

"Took you long enough," the Ancient One remarked, finally releasing the new arrival from her embrace.

"Aneurysm repair takes as long as it takes," he remarked.

"They inaugurated you with a simple aneurysm? Seems beneath you."

"They can read about me all they want, but apparently they want to see me in action before they turn me loose in their OR."

"Were they impressed?"

He smirked, though he said, "I couldn't tell."

"Yes you could," the Ancient One said dismissively. Her expression morphed suddenly, and she looked Strange up and down in the same way she looked at Bucky when he showed up to class on days he really should have stayed in his room to convalesce. "And are you doing alright?" she asked, more quietly this time, but not so quiet that the assembled students couldn't hear her.

"Yeah. In remission, remember?" he replied, sounding almost insulted that she'd asked such a question.

"Of course I remember, it just never hurts to be sure. I'm glad to hear it, and to have you as a coworker once again." She turned to the class almost as if she'd forgotten they were even there and announced, "You all needn't have stayed for this. You're dismissed."

"Yeah, and what exactly is this?" Bucky asked, nodding between her and the stranger.

"Children, this is Dr. Stephen Strange, Gravesen's newest hire."

"Neurosurgeon, I'm guessing?" Quill remarked.

"Indeed," Dr. Strange stated.

"How do you two know each other?" Steve asked genuinely. They'd never had an opportunity to ask the Ancient One anything about herself, but Tony supposed now was as good a time as any since she'd invited this piece of her past into the classroom with them. They were all here to learn, weren't they?

"She was my attending when I was a resident at another hospital," Strange informed them.

"You were a neurosurgeon?" Quill asked incredulously, looking at the Ancient One.

"As a matter of fact, I was."

"One of the best, if I might add," Strange said.

"Oh shut up. I had to be if I had any hope of guiding you."

Tony had no idea the Ancient One had the capacity for such savage remarks. He rather liked this version of her. It was much preferable to the stoic professor type.

~0~

Later that day Tony, Bucky, and Steve Googled the hospital's newest addition. Dr. Stephen Strange had a formidable resume, including inventing an entirely new technique for a particular operation with a colleague from his previous hospital. Tony could see why a place like Gravesen attracted him.

"Peggy was telling me earlier that the hospital has seen an unprecedented rise in rare neuro cases in the past few months. I guess they needed someone skilled to keep up with the demand," Steve explained.

"So they picked the biggest big shot money can buy," Bucky concluded.

"Apparently so," Tony drawled. He wasn't sure how he felt about the guy's attitude. Honestly, he'd come across as kind of an asshole. Fortunately, the odds Tony would end up on his table were slim to none. When he eventually had his surgery, his brain would be safely out of the way. And cardiothoracic surgeons were known for their superior humility to neurosurgeons. Actually, Tony had no idea if that was a real statistic. But it seemed plausible.

"Well, if my cancer wants to metastasize to my brain, I suppose now's as good a time as any. If anyone could remove it without rendering me blind or dumb, I'll bet Strange could."

"I don't doubt that," Steve said. "But I have a general mistrust of anyone who spells Steven with a ph."

"Why's that?" Tony asked.

"It's just unnecessary. In all other words, ph makes a sound like an f. Why is it suddenly different in Stephen? And what's wrong with a good old v?"

"I don't know Steve," Bucky sighed. "But I agree your spelling is superior."

"Thank you."

"How do you think he'll get along with Coulson? Isn't he technically Strange's boss?" Tony asked.

"I'm not sure how the hierarchy works. But I'm pretty sure the Chief of Surgery is in charge of all things surgery-related," Steve explained. "Which would make him Strange's boss."

"Not sure how that's going to work out," Bucky muttered.

"He doesn't seem like the kind to take orders from anyone," Tony remarked.

"Well, he must have if he was a surgeon at any hospital anywhere. Everybody has a boss," Steve said.

"What about Dr. Lee? Isn't he the highest up you can get at this hospital?"

"He's the president of the hospital, so I can't imagine there's anyone here who's in charge of him. I think he does have to answer to a board of some sort, you know, the people who handle the budget and the government and all that."

"I hate bureaucracy," Bucky muttered.

"I know you do, Buck," Steve sighed.

"Did you guys hear what he said to the Ancient One when she asked, though?"

"Which part?" Tony questioned.

"She asked if he was doing okay, and I heard the word 'remission,'" Bucky informed them.

"I heard it too," Tony said.

"You think he used to have cancer or something?" Steve inquired.

"I don't think I've ever heard remission used to describe anything else. Especially not here. And the Ancient One only gives _that_ look to a certain group of people—and they're not generally healthy people."

"Maybe that's when she started shaving her head; to support him," Tony surmised. "They seem to be awfully close for just former colleagues."

"Who knows, maybe that's also why he became a neurosurgeon. To remove brain tumors like the one he had at some point," Steve suggested.

"Are you guys talking about Dr. Strange?" Parker asked as he joined them on the common room sofa.

"Yep," Tony said.

"From the way everyone's acting, it's like he's a wizard or something."

"He's one of the best neurosurgeons in the country," Steve told him. "Even if he does spell his name stupid."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Apparently he's in the OR right now on some impossible case."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Passed Coulson's office on the way back from session. There was a horrible car accident; it literally fell off a cliff and flipped over a few times. Windshield shattered and ripped the driver's hands to shreds. Strange is trying to piece them back together."

"A car accident that severe, and the worst injury is mutilated hands?" Bucky didn't sound convinced. "That's ridiculous."

"That's what Coulson said happened."

"There's no severe spinal cord injury? Compound fractures? Head injury with significant brain damage? This man must've been lucky as hell."

"I guess so."

"Think he'll be able to do it?" Tony asked.

"Who do what?" Parker questioned.

"Strange. Repair this guy's hands or whatever."

"I think he can. I mean, Gravesen hired him because they need the best."

"The best is often the most arrogant," Steve commented.

"I don't think arrogance among surgeons is all that uncommon. The guy who did mine was as full of himself as my shoulder was full of cancer."

"I'd be pretty proud of myself if I survived med school and residency," Tony remarked.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't be an asshole," Parker told him.

"I mean, I could be. You never know."

"You're humble enough to admit you have the potential to become an asshole?" Bucky said incredulously. "You're worse than Steve."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve asked.

"You're Mr. Righteous. Hell, you're always so worried about everyone else that you forget to avoid dog dander and nearly die on me."

"That was one time! And admittedly I was a little preoccupied."

"Exactly. Preoccupied with everyone's health but your own."

"Are you suggesting I have no regard for my own life?"

"Not no regard. Just less than you should. You'd be the kid to dive onto a live grenade to try and shield everyone else from the blast."

Steve looked affronted. Tony spoke up, "Bucky has a point. But it's not a bad thing. You wouldn't be Steve without a self-sacrificial streak." Parker nodded his agreement.

"Well, as far as defining characteristics go, I could do a lot worse."

"Yeah. You could be an asshole," Bucky reminded him.

"Nobody here is an asshole," Steve said.

"I don't know, Clint's got a real impish side," Parker pointed out.

"Yeah, he guilt tripped me for not realizing he was deaf when he was just purposefully ignoring me," Tony stated.

"He does that to every new person who shows up," Steve informed him.

"Yeah," Parker agreed.

"And Steve apparently gives a welcome tour to everyone who shows up like some sort of hospital mascot," Tony quipped.

"Hey!"

"It's true," Bucky corroborated. "When I first saw you give a tour, I thought you were getting paid for it."

"Well I wasn't."

"You should ask them to pay you. You do a good job of it."

"I am not asking the hospital to pay me for being friendly."

"That's a missed opportunity, man." Bucky shook his head in disappointment.

"They could give you a cute little tour guide vest and everything," Parker added.

"No. I only have one vest that I'll ever wear, and it's the one that stops me from drowning in my own mucus," Steve insisted. "Speaking of which, it's almost time for that, so I'm going to head out. If you see Strange, congratulate him on a job well done, I guess."

"You know we won't. Surgeons have no reason to come up here unless they have a patient or are visiting old mentors, apparently," Bucky said.

"Whatever."

Tony half-heartedly waved goodbye as Steve trudged back to his room. He needed to stay out of his own for the next half hour unless he wanted to be treated to a symphony of Steve's coughing. He turned to Bucky and said, "It's as if he doesn't even know he's the de facto leader around here."

"Please," Bucky scoffed. "Steve wouldn't know he was leader unless they slapped a badge on him and called him Captain."

"Shame. He's pretty good at it," Parker remarked. Tony wondered how the dynamic of their hospital ward would change if Steve got well enough to go home. Would someone have to fill his role, or would everything naturally reach a new equilibrium? As much as Tony wanted everyone here to get better, he wasn't sure he could survive in a Gravesen without Steve. He certainly didn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I just poked fun at the somewhat unrealistic physical consequences of the car crash from Dr. Strange while also addressing him insisting "I could have done better."


	16. Scanxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get started with this chapter I'd like to mention that July is sarcoma awareness month. The type of cancer Bucky has in this story is just one of many different types of sarcoma, a cancer sometimes called "the forgotten cancer" because of how rare it is. Despite this rarity, approximately 12,000 people in the United States are diagnosed every year. Sarcoma mostly affects people under 20 years old and on average the survival rate is about 50%. Those that do survive face a lifetime of side effects and often amputation or limb salvage. It's important to educate people about these cancers to raise awareness and increase funding to hopefully find better treatment options or even a cure.

Since his diagnosis, Tony had learned lots of new words. Most of them pertained to cardiology, the names of specific regions of the heart and specific ways in which it could malfunction. Fibrillation. Sinoatrial node. Cardiomyopathy. He knew the vernacular of his friends' conditions to a lesser extent, but still more than the average teenager knew. Tony didn't expect that the average American could name any chemotherapy drugs, but he'd learned a few. Thor taught him some neurological terms, and Steve the names of some other medications. Beyond that, he learned a ton of Star Wars lingo from Parker and a few Russian words from Natasha. However, if Tony had to choose the most important addition to his vocabulary, it was no contest. Scanxiety. The frighteningly easy-to-construct portmanteau that placed lives on hold with almost the same severity and frequency as the disease the scans looked for.

The first sign of impending doom: Clint neglected to wear his hearing aids for two days straight. Occasionally he forgot them, but always went back to put them in if someone reminded him. Multiple people had reminded him and he'd refused each and every time, leaving Tony puzzled. Clint never actively shunned participating in conversations or activities, but now it seemed he wanted nothing to do with anyone else. Naturally, Tony asked Steve what was going on. Steve somehow always knew everyone's deepest thoughts even if they hadn't shared them with him.

"He has scans tomorrow," Steve informed him.

"So?"

"Scans are a big deal for cancer kids. They reveal if treatment is working or not and inform Rescue's next steps."

"Oh." Now he understood just why this could cause a mental shutdown even in someone as youthfully bubbly as Clint. The course of his immediate future depended on the results of those scans. "Is there anything I can do to help him?" Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. "Scanxiety is tough. I've been trying to help during these times as long as I've known them and nothing ever works. They just need to mull until results come through and they stop worrying about what-ifs."

"Scanxiety?" Tony had never heard the term up until this point.

"Anxiety for scans. It's just what they call it. I can't imagine anything is more capable of making people anxious than those scans. I get nervous enough for lung function tests, I can't imagine the kind of stress they're under."

"What about his parents? Won't they be here for moral support?"

"Yeah, they'll come in. But even they can only do so much. Clint's old enough now that he understands what's going on and placating him doesn't really work. He understands that six years of treatment failing to get him into remission is not a good indicator of long-term survival."

"Are you saying he's going to die?"

Steve hesitated, and because of that Tony knew whatever he said next was either only a partial truth or an outright lie. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Rescue knows what she's doing and Clint's been doing pretty well over the past few months."

"The truth, Steve. I can see that you're telling me one thing while thinking something else."

"Survival rates for high-risk neuroblastoma aren't particularly high," he admitted.

"Define not particularly high."

"Forty to fifty percent."

"Steve," Tony began, unsure exactly where he intended to go with this sentence. "Are you convinced he's going to die?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I have no idea when, but I don't foresee this cancer leaving him alone long enough to be considered survival. I know it's pessimistic, but I've seen enough similar cases in my time here to know a lost cause when I see one."

"You're thinking about someone in particular, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Steve sighed, readjusting his oxygen cannula nervously.

"You want to tell me about them?"

"Scott was about the same age as Clint when he started treatment. Too young. But he seemed so much younger…he was so small. It must've been a combination of genetics and chemo stunting his growth, but he seemingly didn't age at all over the time he was here. He and Clint became really close friends, as close as Clint is with Natasha now. Clint called him Ant-Man because of his size, but Scott didn't seem to mind. He went along with everything the other kids did with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. He was too young to understand the weight his scan results carried, so he didn't get nervous, but I got nervous for him.

"The scans weren't good. I didn't need to be a radiologist or even look at them at all to know that. Scott's treatment intensified, and his spirits dwindled. His team was throwing everything they had at his cancer, but his tumors weren't shrinking. Fortunately, Clint wasn't admitted here during Scott's last days. That would've been horribly traumatizing for him. I was here, though. I saw him two days before it happened, and I wish I remembered more from that visit. I think I somehow blocked it out as soon as the interaction was over. All I remember is him saluting me. I don't know why he did that, or why my brain decided to file it away forever, but I vividly recall his little salute. It's like he was seeing me off or something, even though he was the one leaving."

"That's horrible." Scott's name wasn't on the gauntlet, so Tony had never heard mention of him before. He should have known that in all Steve's time being treated at this hospital he'd seen some unspeakable things. This was probably just one of many kids he'd gotten to know only for them to leave him in the cruelest way possible. Tony hoped he didn't experience the same repeated agony, though he didn't have much faith in the hope that he'd escape this place mentally unscathed.

"Neuroblastoma is a fucking monster," Steve growled. "Sometimes I just don't understand how things like this can even exist. What did these kids do to be betrayed by their own bodies before they can even grow into them?"

"I don't know, Steve. I don't think we can ever know. I think the best we can do is help them while they're here. And nobody does that better than you." Tony didn't expect a pep talk to come spilling out of his mouth, but that's exactly what happened. Steve blamed himself for any misfortune he couldn't remedy—which, in a hospital, was quite a lot—and Tony feared he'd dissolve from the inside out with the frustration of not being able to help.

"I just don't want to have to watch what'll happen to Nat if Clint dies," Steve whispered hoarsely. Tony didn't want to see that either, but if it came to pass they'd have no choice.

"She's strong," Tony reminded him, for his own sake as much as for Steve's. However, he couldn't necessarily say the same of himself.

"Look at us and our vicarious scanxiety. It's pitiful."

"No, it's not. It means you care. There's nothing pitiful about that."

"It's impossible not to care about people here," Steve said. "But it also hurts so much."

"I know," Tony placated. He had absolutely no idea how to go about comforting Steve in this situation, but he figured just letting the guy talk was as good a strategy as any. Steve stood and made his way over to his wall of drawings, fixating on one in the corner Tony hadn't noticed before. He knew without having to ask that this must be Scott. The technique was less refined, indicating Steve had completed this work when he was much younger, and the person depicted was a boy who looked to be around five years old. Lovingly scrawled in the corner was the nickname "Ant-Man" in handwriting he suspected was a younger Clint's.

"Back then, were you still drawing your friends as if they weren't sick?" Tony asked.

"No. I came up with that idea after I met Carol. This is just Scott as he was."

"How did Clint take it when he found out?"

"This was before his hearing got so bad, but he retreated so far within himself that he might as well have been deaf for a week. At least, that's what I heard. He was at home on a break between treatments, and his parents told him. When he was admitted again, I overheard his parents talking to Happy about it and requesting some therapy sessions. I myself spent some time with the Falcon after Scott, and after Carol. It always hits hard when someone goes. It reminds us that none of us are safe from Thanatos."

~0~

"Three cups of CT contrast," Clint stated. "Breakfast of champions." Tony watched him finish off the first cup and reluctantly begin the second with a grimace of disgust. Oddly, he'd seemingly returned to his old self on the morning of scans despite the anxiety of the previous two days.

"Is it flavored?" Tony asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Nope." Clint took another gulp.

"Bummer."

"I've had worse," he said nonchalantly. "One time my mom tried to make banana smoothies."

"I happen to like your mom's banana smoothies," a new voice said. Tony turned to find that two people who must have been Clint's parents had entered the room. Clint's eyes lit up and he sprung up to embrace them joyfully. Tony couldn't suppress the smile that spread across his face, though he wished they were here under less stressful circumstances. Clint had been doing this for so long that they trusted him here without their supervision most of the time and he was comfortable enough in this horrible routine that, even at his young age, he didn't need them here. Tony's own parents rarely visited after that first time, though he suspected that had more to do with his father's work schedule than their trust of Tony managing hospital life on his own.

"How are you doing?" Clint's mother asked.

"Ready to get this over with," Clint replied. He stepped out of the hug and gestured to Tony, "This is my friend Tony. He's the newest Gravesen resident."

"Nice to meet you Tony," Clint's father said. They nodded at each other in greeting. Anyone who'd spent any length of time in a hospital let hand shaking as a custom fall out of fashion; it was a fantastic way to spread germs. Tony decided it would be best to leave Clint alone with his parents so they could all mentally prepare for today's scans. Besides, he'd asked Natasha if she'd like him to keep her company today in Clint's absence and she'd somewhat reluctantly accepted. He understood that she wasn't as familiar with his presence as she was with Clint, but Tony truly wanted to get to know her better. The closest he'd had to bonding time with her was the one time he accompanied both her and Clint to chemo at the beginning of his stay here, and that hardly counted.

"Good luck," he told Clint on his way out.

"Thanks Tony. Don't let Nat get too worried."

"I won't."

When he stopped by Natasha's room it was around nine thirty in the morning. As long as he'd been here, he hadn't really seen anyone else's hospital room besides Steve and Parker. He didn't really know what to expect of the girl's living quarters. Her room sat across the hall from Clint and directly next to Parker. He knocked gently and received a quiet invitation to come in. If it wasn't for Natasha sitting there, Tony wouldn't have known anyone inhabited this room. His own he'd decorated with his AC/DC poster and stuffed animals, Parker's was littered with Star Wars memorabilia, Steve covered his walls in drawings, but Natasha had next to nothing to mark this room as her own. The only things that weren't universal to every hospital room at Gravesen were a stuffed black cat and a red-and-black knit blanket folded up at the foot of the bed.

"Good morning," Tony greeted after pausing far too long to take in the bareness of the room.

"Could be better," she remarked curtly. Tony noticed she'd neglected her dark red wig for the day, which wasn't completely out of the ordinary, but something seemed off. She sat up in the bed, picking at a plate of dry toast without actually eating any of it.

"What's wrong?" He moved slowly forward, watching for any indication that Natasha didn't want him nearer. She didn't react, so he sat down in a chair beside the bed and braced himself to listen.

"I worry about Clint," she sighed. After his conversation with Steve, Tony worried about Clint too, and he figured it must be ten times worse for Natasha. She understood what he faced better than Tony ever could.

"I'm worried about him too, Nat. But he hasn't given up in six years of fighting this thing. I don't think he's going to give up now.

"He cannot. If he gives up, I will too."

Tony wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. But he tried, "No you won't. If you both give up, cancer wins. You don't want that, do you?"

"Cancer always wins," she stated angrily.

"I suppose I can't argue with that," Tony sighed. "I didn't come here expecting to have such a depressing conversation. What do you say we talk about something else? Something to get our minds off any bad stuff that might happen."

"Okay," she relented.

"Where did you get this blanket?" Tony asked, picking the one thing in the room that could actually be considered a topic of conversation.

"Mama made it," she replied, and Tony detected the dramatic shift in her tone. She no longer sounded down, but now spoke as if remembering something fondly. "Mama made many blankets, but this is my favorite."

"What do you like about it?"

"Soft wool. And colors. I like black and red."

"I'm more of a red and gold kind of guy, but black and red also look really good together. Especially on this pattern," Tony remarked, flipping over a corner of the blanket to admire the stitchwork. "Your mom is a fantastic knitter."

"Yes. She was teaching me a little. Before I came here."

"Do you get to talk to her ever?"

"Yes. We talk most mornings. Time difference is weird."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Russia's a long way from here. What's it like?" he asked, genuinely curious. He'd never traveled beyond the United States in his life, his father never taking enough vacation days for them to go anywhere exciting as a family.

"Home," she said wistfully. Tony waited for her to elaborate, but she fell silent. She'd been away from her home for so long that dredging up memories of it might bring about more pain than pleasure.

"Sorry I brought it up," Tony muttered hurriedly. He felt like he was treading on eggshells now, one misstep potentially plunging Natasha into misery worse than she already experienced as a kid with cancer. Why had he forced himself into this situation? He wasn't Steve, he couldn't handle being a rock for these kids the way the other boy could. Steve embraced his role as the nominal father of the Gravesen group with a grace Tony admired but could never mirror. He was really out of his element, and he could tell Natasha knew it. Hopefully, she wouldn't resent him for trying to be a good person and failing miserably.

"It is okay," she told him. "Tell me about you," she instructed, redirecting the conversation away from herself. She put the plate of untouched toast on her bedside table and turned to look at Tony, waiting for him to speak.

"What about me?" he asked.

"Anything."

"Um, well…my mom can't knit, but she's a pretty darn good cook. Speaking of which, you should at least try to eat before Peggy or someone comes in to scold you." Tony knew some of the nurses were always disappointed with a full plate—he himself had been chastised for it multiple times.

Natasha shook her head vehemently. "Will not stay down. Chemo later."

"Oh. Okay…changing the subject…" he struggled to come up with something. "What did you find most surprising or weird about America when you got here?"

"Besides alphabet?" she asked with a smirk.

"Yeah. Besides the alphabet."

"I do not know. I did not see much before hospital."

"You've been in New York City for this long and you haven't seen much? That's practically a crime."

"Cannot leave hospital. Immunocompromised," she shrugged.

"Mark my words, we'll find a way around that soon enough," Tony vowed.

"Adventure?"

"Yes. An adventure."

"Sounds fun. Also dangerous."

"That's what makes it fun."

"Okay. If we get in trouble, it is your fault. You get blame."

"I'll take that risk." She smiled, and Tony internally celebrated eliciting a response other than a morose sigh or awkward silence.


	17. He Is Afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically a continuation of the previous, so I'm posting it a little early. Enjoy!

Tony's victory at getting Nat to smile was interrupted by Happy stopping in to alert her it was chemo time. Tony remained where he was, unsure if he'd be welcome, but Natasha grabbed his wrist and pulled him after her.

"Bringing company today?" Happy asked her, glancing at Tony.

"Yes," she stated. Tony followed silently, unsure how to react to being invited to a chemotherapy dose that wasn't part of his traditional Gravesen initiation. He sat in the armchair across as Natasha was prepped and hissed in sympathy when the needle went in. He'd forgotten how long and sharp port needles looked.

"Man up," Natasha told him, picking up on his obvious discomfort. "This is not your first time. No nerves."

"Sorry. I can't exactly help it," he said. He'd just been told to man up by a girl five years his junior. It certainly wasn't a highlight in the life of Tony Stark. But what ensued was even worse.

An hour or so had passed and Tony tried not to focus on the grey tinge Natasha's skin had adopted. He regretted suggesting she eat breakfast earlier. Everything she hadn't eaten came back up, followed by a bout of unproductive dry heaving. Tony didn't know what to do, how to offer even a semblance of comfort in this situation. Nick or Clint was usually here receiving chemo alongside her, but he had scans scheduled for today instead of a dose. Thinking about Clint's scans reminded Tony of his conversation with Steve, something he certainly didn't want to be thinking about while watching Natasha as she became so sick from the very thing preventing her from dying. There was really nothing graceful about cancer, was there? At least Tony's treatment left him with the majority of his dignity.

He heard footsteps approaching and hoped it was one of their friends, someone to diffuse the awkward energy hanging between him and Nat. Or maybe a nurse here to administer something to help these horrific side effects. Tony certainly didn't expect his parents to walk through the door of the chemo clinic.

"Tony?" His father's unmistakable voice.

"Dad?" he blinked heavily, still not sure the sight before him was real and not a figment of his imagination. His father looked not only surprised to find him here, but terrified. Why that would be the case, Tony had no idea. Howard Stark's gaze flitted between his son and Natasha, his eyes filling with an emotion Tony couldn't identify.

"They told us you were in here. What are you doing?" he asked coldly.

"I'm just keeping Natasha company," Tony replied, indicating the girl across from him. She gave a weak wave and a half smile.

"That's nice of you," his mother said. His father said nothing. Maria Stark sat down beside Tony, practically dragging her husband behind her and forcing him into the next chair down.

"Natasha, these are my parents," Tony introduced.

"Nice to meet you," she said weakly. An audible gasp of horror escaped his father's mouth. He stood defiantly and looked down on Natasha as if she'd robbed him of his entire fortune. Howard Stark could be frighteningly imposing when he wanted to, and Natasha cowered beneath his scrutiny. What the hell was going on? Before Tony could question his father's behavior further, Howard wrapped a strong hand around his upper arm and yanked him to his feet.

"No," Howard growled. "This is not something I will allow to happen."

"What?" Tony cried. What did he mean? He wouldn't allow _what_ to happen? Natasha watched helplessly as Howard forcibly dragged Tony out of the room. "Mom!" he called frantically, hoping she would do something to stop her husband from doing whatever this was. She only looked at him sadly and moved to take his seat across from Natasha. He met eyes with Nat one last time before Howard pulled him around a corner and he lost sight of her. She didn't look confused or afraid. Natasha looked like she understood exactly what was going on. What did she know that Tony didn't?

"What the hell was that all about?" Tony questioned, seething. "She wanted me to keep her company, so I did. Why are you mad at me for that?"

"I'm not mad at you."

"Then explain this." Tony rolled up his sleeve and revealed the harsh red marks where his father had gripped him so tightly.

"I needed to get you out of there," he explained.

"Why?!"

"I don't want my son associating with people like her. Especially in a place like this."

"What do you mean, people like her?" Tony asked. An inkling of an idea presented itself in the back of his mind, but he didn't want to consider it. He hoped that even his father would never stoop so low.

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Because she's Russian? Are you really so bigoted? That's low even for you." He didn't retort as Tony feared he might. Howard closed his mouth and pursed his lips into a flat line. "Thanks for putting me in the awkward position of explaining to my friend that my father physically dragged me away from her because he's prejudiced," Tony spat. He stalked away without another word. Without consciously thinking about it, he carried himself to Bruce's door. He stopped just short of knocking. Why did he come to Bruce? He'd barely spoken to the guy beyond their occasional shared walk and school, yet he ended up storming here in his rage. It wasn't meditation time, so Tony dared to knock. Bruce didn't verbally invite him in, but stepped up and opened the door himself.

"Tony? What's wrong?" he asked immediately. Tony took a deep breath, knowing he must look pretty flustered for Bruce to so quickly ask him that.

"My father."

"Oh boy. You'd better sit down." Bruce stepped back and gestured to a comfortable chair in the corner of his room. Tony had never seen inside Bruce's room either, but it reminded him somewhat of what he suspected a monk's chambers would look like. He took a seat and Bruce sat before him, staring blankly and waiting for him to talk.

"I always knew he had a strong patriotic streak, but this took it to a whole new level," Tony said.

"You're going to have to elaborate. Tell me the whole story from the beginning."

"You sure? I don't want to take up too much of your time; I know how important it is to you."

"You're just as important," he assured. "Besides, it'll be nice to be on the other side of this kind of conversation for once. Too much self scrutiny isn't good for anyone, it helps to focus on someone else every once in a while. This is my chance to utilize everything I've learned from spending so much time with the Falcon."

"Okay, here goes. I accompanied Natasha to her chemo because Clint's busy with his parents and scans and she didn't want to go alone. I didn't even know my parents were coming to visit today, but they came into the chemo clinic and my dad just completely lost it. He literally dragged me away and said I shouldn't be associating with people like her."

"What did he mean by people like her?"

"He didn't specify. But he didn't react until after she spoke, so my best guess is that he doesn't like the fact she's Russian."

"He does know it's not the fifties anymore, right?"

"I certainly hope so. He's the head of a big weapons manufacturing firm, which I guess is in direct competition with Russia, but I don't understand why he would hate a little girl who happens to be from there."

"Is he generally paranoid? Maybe he thinks she's a spy."

"My father is many things, but he's definitely not stupid. No country would make spies out of kids with cancer."

"That's what makes them the best spies," Bruce remarked. "Nobody would ever suspect them."

"Do you really think Nat's a Russian spy?"

"Of course not! That's ridiculous. I was making a joke."

"Sorry. I'm not quite in the right headspace to pick up on humor," Tony admitted. The fact that Bruce genuinely made a joke, though, that was encouraging as far as the other's boy's recovery went.

"Understandable."

"Bruce, you should have seen the way he looked at her. He looked like she'd _taken_ something from him just by existing. It's one thing for him to look at me like I don't deserve to be alive, but I will not abide by him looking at my friends like that," he stated firmly.

"Wait a minute, your dad looks at you like you don't deserve to be alive? Tony, that's concerning."

"Nah." Tony waved him off. "It's just the way he is. I'm pretty certain he didn't want kids—too much of a distraction from his work and all that—but I came along, probably by accident, and he got stuck in the role of father. I've accepted that I'll never gain his approval, but I certainly don't want him extending that apathy to anyone else."

"Well I'm glad you've made peace with this unfortunate fact, but even if your dad didn't want kids, it's a pretty bad sign if he makes it that obvious _to his kid_."

"That's his problem."

"I guess so."

"My problem is I don't know what to say to Natasha after my own father looked at her like that and bodily hauled me away from her."

"Did she seem upset?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But I can't imagine how she could not be upset. I'm pretty upset. My father has no right to dictate who I spend time with, especially on the basis of nationality."

"You're right, he doesn't. Exactly how is he planning to enforce this?"

"He didn't say, but I have no doubt he's capable of doing so. I just hope he doesn't have me transferred to another hospital."

"And away from Dr. Rhodes? Do you really think he'd do that?"

"I'm not sure. My happiness and well-being have never really been a top priority of his."

"Tony, I think this is over my head. You really need to talk to Dr. Wilson about this…and probably your dad too."

"I'm not sure he's going to be willing to speak to me after I called him prejudiced and stormed off on him."

"At least you spoke your mind. I've never really been brave enough to do that."

"Bruce, you're one of the bravest people I know," Tony said honestly. Whenever he tagged along on a walk, he admired Bruce's quiet courage and drive for self-improvement despite the perilous obstacles his mental illness set before him.

Bruce waved him off, "There's no way that's true. You know, like, five people fighting cancer. I just sit on the sidelines and fight with myself."

"That's what makes it all the more commendable."

"You really think so?"

"Of course."

"It's rather ironic you're here for a faulty heart because it's clear you have one of the best there is."

"Thanks Bruce." Tony felt said heart warm with such kind words. He knew he needed to put it to good use and attempt to make amends with Natasha. "I'm going to go back to Nat and try to fix things."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." He swung by the chemo clinic only to discover she'd already finished her infusion. Grateful he didn't have to watch that any longer, he turned back and headed to her room. She answered his knock in a barely audible whimper. He eased the door open and stepped inside. Natasha was curled up in bed beneath her black and red blanket, arms wrapped around her stuffed black cat. Her port remained accessed, but connected to bags of fluid and blood instead of chemo.

"Hey," he greeted, unsure how to proceed.

"Hi," she clipped back.

"So…I came to apologize for what my father said. I don't know what got into him, but I want to make it clear that I have no intention of following any stupid rules he attempts to lay down."

"He hurt you," Natasha remarked, pointing to his arm where the red marks emerged past his sleeve.

"It's just a little bruise." Tony tugged his sleeve down in an attempt to cover the marks.

"Why did he make you leave?"

"He didn't want me to hang out with you," Tony explained.

"He is afraid."

"Yeah. He works with a lot of people who remember the arms race and there's some lingering hostility between our countries, and he assumed because you fit into that group you qualify as an enemy—"

"No," she cut him off. "He was afraid before I spoke. Before he knew."

"What? How do you know that?"

"I could see it in his eyes."

"But why else would he not want me near you?"

"I do not know. He is _your_ father."

That was true, though sometimes Tony wished he wasn't.


	18. Code Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depictions of non-graphic gun violence

"You get killed, walk it off," Steve snarled. Only Tony's intense focus on the screen in front of them prevented him from bursting out laughing. Between Clint's scans, his awkward interactions with Natasha, and the debacle with his father, yesterday had proved fraught with emotional turmoil. Playing stupid video games helped get his mind off of all that.

"That's not how this game works," Quill pointed out.

"Yeah. If you get killed, your teammates have to keep fighting without you," Clint reminded him.

"Which lowers chance of success," Natasha added.

"I know, I know. I just thought it'd be a badass thing to say."

"Yes. Very macho of you, Steve," Tony drawled just as an alien blasted his avatar's right arm off. "Aaaand I'm dead."

"Serves you right for making fun of me," Steve retorted.

Tony thought about arguing back, but he was interrupted by a new voice. This voice blared throughout the room with as much urgency as a synthesized voice was capable of producing, "Code Silver. Code Silver. Code Silver."

"Uhhh, does anyone know what that means?" Quill asked. Everyone shook their heads. Tony had never heard such a term used before. Steve stood and started for the door, presumably to go ask around and find out what was going on. He barely made it two steps before Happy swung the door open violently. He and Peggy tore into the room; she drew the blinds over the windows facing the hallways while he locked the door and turned to face the assembly of confused children.

"Away from the door," he instructed with forced tranquility, ushering them all towards the other side of the room. He herded them behind the couch that faced the door and gestured from them to sit down, effectively hiding them from view of anyone glancing into the room. Peggy shut off the TV, waltzed up to Steve, and disconnected his port access from the IV pole while he spluttered inquiries about why this was necessary. She lifted the oxygen tank off its perch on the pole and thrust it into Steve's lap before rolling the stand away so it sat alone across the room.

"What was that for?" Steve asked accusingly. "I wasn't informed my antibiotics were being terminated prematurely."

"Shhh," Peggy hushed with a finger to her lips.

"What's a code silver?" Thor asked again. Based on the precautions Happy and Peggy had just taken, Tony hazarded a guess it indicated nothing good. The seven kids and two nurses sat in a haphazard circle between the back of the couch and the wall opposite the door to the common room. Tony found himself sandwiched between Parker and Natasha, across from Peggy and Steve who now clutched his oxygen tank to his chest like Tony used to cuddle Jarvis when he was upset. Clint sat next to Natasha, the two of them pressed so closely together they could have been conjoined twins. Beside Parker sat Happy, then Quill and Thor, both clearly confused and afraid but trying not to show it.

Happy and Peggy engaged in a nonverbal sparring match by solely exchanging glares, arguing over who would get stuck with the duty of explaining the situation. Happy lost. "Anyone with their phone on them, silence it now," he ordered. Trembling hands reached into pockets and switched off ringers. Tony all but knew what was happening at this point, but he wanted to hear it from Happy just to be sure. The nurse gulped before delivering the information, which did nothing to assuage the building anxiety among them. "A code silver means someone with a weapon has entered the hospital."

"Where in the hospital?" Quill asked, voice quivering.

"Not on this floor," Happy said calmly.

"But he could easily get here," Parker pointed out. Tony noticed the boy was already shivering.

"We're on lockdown until further notice," Peggy informed them. "It's not that easy to get through that locked door."

"Bucky and Nick are in the chemo clinic right now," Steve said. "Are they gonna be okay?"

"They're locking down everything until security and the police apprehend him," Happy informed them. "Bucky and Nick are doing exactly as we are."

"That doesn't mean they'll be safe," Clint whimpered.

"We're as safe as we can be. We really need to be quiet," Peggy stated. A silence so thick it could've suffocated them descended over the room. Tony met eyes with Steve and observed his own panic mirrored in the other boy's gaze. He often thought that things couldn't get much worse than living in a hospital, yet here they were, cowering from a threat to their lives that had nothing to do with illness. The stress of not knowing anything more than the fact an armed and dangerous person prowled the hallways gnawed at his insides. The sound of Parker's rapidly worsening breathing shattered the silence, accompanied by an occasional harsh wheeze from Steve's lungs. Happy placed a hand on Parker's shoulder to steady him and the boy leaned into the contact. Natasha and Clint clutched each other's hands with enough grip strength to turn their fingertips purple.

Among the older kids, equal levels of terror and stress manifested. Steve's wheezing continued, though it didn't spiral and shut down like it had the day of Bucky's surgery. Quill soundlessly mouthed the words to some song Tony couldn't recognize, and Thor slipped into repeated absence seizures. Tony's defibrillator fired what he guessed was around fifteen minutes into the lockdown. He let out a strangled gasp as the shock caught him off guard and clamped a hand over his mouth, the other flying to his chest.

"What's wrong?" Happy asked without saying a word. Tony forced a deep inhale and catalogued his symptoms. No lingering chest pain. No vertigo. He was probably fine. Tony shook his head and swept off Happy's inquiry, mouthing "fine" repeatedly as if by saying it enough he could force it upon reality. Nothing about this was fine.

His eyes leapt to Thor as he slipped into his fourth absence since the lockdown began. Tony recognized that as a definitively bad sign. Frequent absence seizures he'd learned often preceded…he didn't even finish the thought before Thor's eyes rolled back in his head and his every muscle tensed up impossibly tight. Fortunately, Quill managed to cushion the impact of his head against the floor with his hand. With his other, he floundered blindly for something soft to put under his head. Since they couldn't reach any of the blankets on the sofa from here, Tony offered up his tee shirt as quickly as he could work it off his torso.

Their biggest problem, however, was the impossibility of keeping a seizing Thor silent. They couldn't restrain his flailing limbs, so they beat against the floor with moderate thumps, all the while a strained gurgling emanated from his throat.

"Please be a short one, please be a short one," Tony heard Happy whispering under his breath. Tony's internal clock in its current state of accuracy estimated the duration of Thor's seizure at around seventeen hours and forty one minutes. Alternatively, zero point two milliseconds. One or the other. Peggy continuously glanced towards the door during Thor's seizure, clearly on high alert for any sign of motion outside. They couldn't see anything past the blinds, but Tony imagined the door being forced open by some criminal with murderous intentions would draw their attention.

At last, Thor's convulsions slowed to a stop. Quill returned Tony's shirt only slightly damp with saliva. He put it back on anyway because he was cold and he didn't like feeling exposed. Together, Happy and Quill rolled Thor into the recovery position on his side. At least they wouldn't have to worry about him making noise for the foreseeable future…unless he suffered back-to-back seizures. But as far as Tony had seen, Thor had never seized twice in such a short time period before, so he tried to convince himself there was no way they'd be in lockdown long enough for him to suffer another.

Happy and Peggy repeatedly checked their devices for updates on the situation, but neither received any. Either circumstances remained stagnant or they'd deteriorated into something so horrible that the people in charge couldn't even manage to distribute information. Tears streamed down Clint's face, and Natasha stared at her feet as if looking away might summon the threat into the center of their circle. Tony almost wished he could go the same way as Thor: pass out and not have to worry about what terrible things might happen to them in the near future. He thought of Bruce and where he might be right now. Ideally, he'd been in session and had an adult governing the lockdown process. If he'd been alone in his room…well, a nurse would have run to him like Happy and Peggy had run to the common room to guide all of them in here…right? Tony refused to picture Bruce having to handle this all on his own. He also refused to picture Bucky and Nick anywhere but safe in Darcy and Jane's embrace. They were definitely not slumped in the comfy armchairs of the chemo clinic with bullet holes dripping blood down their foreheads. Tony hadn't even heard any gunfire, so maybe whoever it was carried something far less deadly but still enough to warrant a Code Silver.

A single shot rang out, reverberating through the floor and the walls. Tony couldn't pinpoint where it came from. The sound was loud, but he had no idea how much the loudness of the shot corresponded to proximity of the shooter. A second shot. Then a third and fourth in quick succession. A stabbing pain arced its way through Tony's thigh as a small foot viciously kicked at him. He turned to the source of the assault just in time to watch Parker dive into Happy's lap using Tony as a springboard. Parker's eyes were closed so tightly Tony thought his lids might crumble under the pressure. His breathing before had sounded panicked, but now all he managed were wretched gasps of air almost as bad as Steve's during an asthma attack. Even Happy's strong embrace failed to quell the violent tremors wracking Parker's frame.

"Shhh," Happy soothed, rocking the boy back and forth ever so gently. His placation failed to drown out the mumbled words spilling out of Parker's mouth, "Not again not again notagainnotagainnotagain." The repeated syllables faded into a whimper after a fifth gunshot made Parker flinch so hard he knocked into Happy's jaw with the top of his head.

He watched Steve stare at Parker like a person would watch a news story about a tsunami wiping out a peaceful beachside village. Natasha's thousand yard stare still had not deviated and Thor remained motionless on the floor at the center of the circle, oblivious to the hell unfolding around him.

Tony, his own anxiety heightened tenfold by Parker's near hysteria, thought of his parents of all things. He tried to remember the last thing he said to them, hoping with all his heart it was something good. It wasn't, he realized. The memory of his last in-person conversation with his father resurfaced: the one where Howard had warned him to stay away from Natasha for some unspecified reason and Tony shouted at him for being prejudiced. It had only been a day, so he hadn't gotten around to making amends after that, but nor had Howard extended an olive branch. Maybe he was back to pretending he didn't have a son. What would he say if he found out Tony had been killed in a hospital shootout?

He pulled out his phone and typed out a text message, wondering if his father would even read it before this lockdown concluded one way or another. "I'm sorry," was all he wrote before shoving the device back in his pocket. Thor gradually began to stir, and Quill placed a hand over his mouth to stifle a postictal groan. "You've gotta be quiet, buddy," he whispered in his ear. Thor managed a weak nod and fell silent. On the other hand, Happy's continued efforts had achieved no such tranquility in Parker. The kid looked like he barely clung to consciousness, chest heaving with each panicked exhale. His hands, locked tight over his ears, shuddered more erratically than Tony's racing heart.

"You gotta breathe, kiddo," Happy uttered fruitlessly. Parker was far beyond the possibility of anyone talking him down. Tony doubted he could even hear them. Hurried, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the room. Were the police giving chase, or just sweeping the halls in search of their target? Tony bit his lip in anticipation as the noise faded into the distance. An eternity passed before anything more eventful than Thor's awakening occurred. Then, Peggy received a message, which she read while every eye in the room except Parker's bored into her.

"All clear," she finally announced. Tony released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Is everyone okay?" Happy asked her, still clutching a trembling Parker.

She hesitated. "Rhodes is down."

"What?" the question escaped Tony's mouth without him consciously telling it to.

"He's alive," she clarified. "Wounded, but alive."

"How bad?" Steve questioned.

"I don't know. But I can go find out." She set off, leaving Happy the only adult in charge of seven shaken children.

"I can't believe that just happened," Quill squeaked. Natasha had finally looked up from her feet but remained completely silent. Thor sat up, rubbing his head sheepishly.

Parker's breathing eased just enough for him to resume muttering, but he showed no sign of returning to lucidity any time soon. "Not again not again not again," the chorus drilled into Tony's mind like a screwdriver. He didn't particularly want to consider why a thirteen-year-old would beg 'not again' upon hearing hostile gunshots.

"What's wrong with him?" Clint asked, his tone blunt but laced with concern.

"Parker's having a panic attack," Happy informed him steadily. "But it's going to be okay. He just needs some time."

"That was…really scary," Steve admitted. He still hadn't relinquished his grip on his oxygen tank.

"No kidding," Tony choked out. He dared to peek at his phone to see if his father had replied to the text message. An undeniable feeling of rage swelled within him when he saw it—the man left him on read. Howard didn't even deign to ask what the apology was for or blindly accept it.

"What do we do now?" Quill asked.

"Well, they gave us the all clear. I want you all to go back to your rooms and stay there until we understand what happened and can give you more information. I don't want anyone wandering around the ward, okay?"

"Okay," several voices assented.

"Are you crazy? I don't want to be alone," Quill countered.

"What about Parker?" Natasha asked genuinely.

"I've got him," Happy said. Parker buried his face in the nurse's chest and Tony's heart clenched in a way that had nothing to do with its physical defects.

"Quill's right," Clint said. "Can't we all just stay here so we're together?"

"Safety in numbers. That's a thing, right?" Thor mumbled.

"You're all safe now. We did exactly what we were supposed to do and they gave us the all clear. Whoever it was, they caught them and they're not a danger to us anymore," Happy assured.

Tony checked his phone once again to see if his father had just taken a long time to formulate a response, but still nothing. He did, however, receive a phone call from his mother approximately ten seconds later. He walked over to the other side of the room and answered, "Hey Mom."

"Oh my God, Tony, you're alive," she blurted out, clearly overwhelmed with relief.

"Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I'm good," he told her, wondering how she knew his life had even been in danger in the first place.

"It was on the news. Some man busted into Gravesen Hospital with a gun. They showed footage from outside…so many police cars. I was scared to death! Especially after your father got that text…"

"Wait, he showed you that?" Tony asked. He tried to keep his voice relatively quiet to avoid disturbing his friends, but the thought of that text made him raise his voice.

"Yes. He didn't know what you were talking about, only that you must be in danger if you said that without prompting. Tony, how close did he get to you? Where are you? Are you alone?"

"Slow down Mom, I'm okay. I swear." Though he couldn't say the same for Parker, now clinging to Happy's scrubs like a baby chimpanzee. "I'm in the common room with Nurse Happy and a couple other patients. None of us are hurt."

"…That's good. But how close, Tony?"

"We heard some gunshots, but I have no idea how close to us they were. There were footsteps in the hall at some point, but I don't know whose. All I know is Dr. Rhodes is hurt."

"Rhodes? How bad?"

"I don't know. Nurse Peggy got the news, and she went to go find out exactly what's going on. I'll text you when I know more."

"Okay. Okay…good. It'd be a shame if he…" she didn't finish the statement. She didn't need to. A despicable thought wormed its way into Tony's head: if Rhodes died, that eliminated his father's motivation for keeping Tony at Gravesen. Between that and the shooting, Howard just might transfer him to keep him away from Nat as he'd threatened. But Tony wouldn't allow himself to be ripped away from his friends like that, especially after what they'd just suffered together.

"I'm gonna go now, Mom, and wait for news with everyone, okay?"

"Okay. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I love you."

"Love you too." Tony hung up and headed back to the circle. He was pleased to note Parker's breathing had slowed, though it remained far from normal and he still hadn't opened his eyes or released Happy.

"Your mom?" Steve asked.

"Yep. She saw the footage of outside the hospital on the news and freaked out," Tony explained.

"Rightfully so," Quill added.

"Do they know who the shooter is?" Thor asked.

"She didn't say."

"How could anyone do such a terrible thing?" Steve asked no one in particular. Tony shook his head in disbelief. Everybody flinched at the sound of the door swinging open, but relaxed when they realized it was only Peggy.

"What's the scoop?" Happy asked. He adjusted his position and turned ever so slightly, eliciting a broken whimper from Parker. Happy snapped back to exactly how he sat before and the boy quieted.

"Rhodes took a bullet in the back," Peggy said solemnly. "It…I…I talked to Heimdall. He saw it happen. It…the bullet's lodged near his spinal cord."

"He—he's paralyzed?" Tony questioned.

"They don't know yet. Dr. Strange is working on extracting it…but paraplegia is a possibility."


	19. Mortality Statistics

"Bucky?" Steve picked up the phone just after Peggy's return with the news about Rhodes. Tony couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but he listened intently to everything Steve said. "Yeah, I'm okay. In the common room with Nat, Clint, Tony, Parker, Quill, and Thor. Are you and Nick alright? Oh, thank goodness. I was worried sick about you. Gross, no I don't want to hear about that. No, Peggy disconnected me so the pole wouldn't immediately reveal our location. All I know is Dr. Rhodes took a shot to the back and Strange is operating on him now. Okay. Okay, bye."

"What's up with him?" Quill asked.

"He and Nick are fine, but they're pissed they have to continue the infusions that were interrupted by the lockdown. He also provided a vivid description of him resisting the urge to throw up which I will not be repeating aloud ever because it repeating in my head for the rest of eternity is bad enough."

Tony was relieved to hear about Nick and Bucky, but there was one other person whose safety he needed to assure himself of. He'd never done this before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything and this day certainly shattered all precedents. He called Bruce. He half-expected it to go to voicemail, but Bruce picked up on the second ring. Tony migrated back to the other side of the room to make the conversation somewhat private.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Tony."

"I know that. I have your contact information in my phone, as a matter of fact." If there was one tone Tony hadn't expected to hear coming from Bruce at a time like this, it was sarcasm, yet that's exactly what he heard. "How are you? How is everyone?"

"Not shot, if that's what you're asking. I think the only victim is Dr. Rhodes, have you heard?"

"Yeah. I was in Dr. Wilson's office and he kept me up to date on everything that was going on. It happened right outside in the hallway where the head offices are."

"Whoa, then you were really close."

"I heard him cry out and hit the floor," Bruce admitted. "I don't think I'll ever forget that."

"I certainly wouldn't were I in your shoes. We heard…five gunshots from the common room if I remember correctly."

"Only one actually found its mark. This Toomes guy is not a master marksman."

"Toomes?"

"Yeah. Adrian Toomes is apparently the guy who broke in here."

"Do you know why?"

"No, I don't. Who's with you—is everyone okay…you know, mentally?"

"I'm with everyone but Nick and Bucky. They're in the chemo clinic and they're both fine. We're mostly good here. Thor had a seizure, but he's back up now. Clint and Nat are pretty shaken, but I think they're okay. Quill, Steve, and I are good."

"You haven't mentioned Parker."

Tony glanced back toward the circle. Happy and Parker seemingly hadn't moved an inch, but the kid's breathing wasn't audibly chaotic anymore. "He…I don't know, Bruce. Everything that happened…well it's definitely a trigger or something for him. He had a pretty bad panic attack, hasn't let go of Happy since the first shot fired."

"Oh man."

"Are you—" Tony didn't know how to phrase it without sounding insensitive. "Did you…keep it together okay, being so close to the action and everything?"

"Did I have a panic attack? Is that what you're asking?"

"Kind of."

"Surprisingly no. But my anxiety revolves more around social situations and my own potential failures, so my brain didn't find this particular incident worth panicking about."

"I guess that's good to hear."

"Where are you now?"

"Still in the common room. We know it's all clear now, but nobody really wants to leave each other's company. You?"

"I'm in my room. Wilson walked me back and then went to help."

"And you're good? You don't need company?"

"I'm good. Thanks, Tony."

"You're welcome. See you later."

"Bye."

Tony returned to the circle and informed everyone of Bruce's state. He noticed tangible relief in Happy's expression—getting all the kids through this mostly unscathed probably seemed impossible when the code silver was first announced. Next time he saw him alone, Tony would have to thank him for a job well done. It couldn't be easy to watch over so many people when under such duress, especially with one of them having a breakdown in his lap.

"Parker, it's alright," Happy soothed. He laid his hand over the one Parker had fisted in his shirt and rubbed his thumb in a circle. "Can you open your eyes for me?" Parker shook his head tensely. "Yes you can," Happy coaxed. "I want you to look at me, and then look at everyone else here and see that they're okay."

Tony gawked at Happy attempting to ease Parker back from the brink. He didn't know what to do, if he should say anything and back up Happy's reassurances, or remain silent and let Parker take the lead. The desire to help—to fix _something_ —overwhelmed him, though he didn't know if his assistance would be welcome. For all he knew, he could make things infinitely worse by getting involved.

Happy pried Parker's fingers out of the tight fist and guided his open palm to rest over his heart. "Feel that? I want you to count the beats and on number twenty you're going to open your eyes, okay?" Parker hesitated, and for an instant Tony feared he'd gone completely catatonic, but then he nodded almost imperceptibly. "Good," Happy sighed. Tony watched Parker mouth the numbers and waited for his eyes to flick open on twenty. Much to Tony's relief, they did. Parker blinked heavily a few times before settling those big brown eyes on Tony. He attempted a reassuring smile, though he doubted it actually succeeded at calming the kid to any degree. Parker looked around, pausing to observe each person around him, before letting his gaze linger on Tony once again.

"That's it," Happy encouraged. "Parker, you think you're ready to let me go? I hate to break it to you, but both my feet are dead asleep."

"Tony," he said, still staring. It was the first word he'd said since this all began except for the panicked murmuring.

"What about him?" Happy asked. Tony took a step closer and sat down a few paces away from them. Parker crawled out of Happy's lap and scooted over, nestling himself into Tony's right side. Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders and could feel the palpable tension. Only after a few seconds did Tony realize that all the other kids were gaping at them. Parker didn't cling desperately to him like he'd done to Happy, but listed most of his weight against Tony's side.

"Parker, does Tony make a good pillow?" Steve asked jokingly. Getting the kid to start communicating with simple one-word answers to questions was probably the best way to go about it. Tony felt Parker nod and saw Steve smile at the response. "Maybe I'll have to try it out one day."

"Absolutely not," Tony said. Although he had to admit that Parker seeking him out like this ignited a warm glow in his core.

"I can't believe we're going to have to start that level over. We were almost done when Tony died," Quill complained. In all the chaos, Tony had completely forgotten about the video game they'd been playing not long ago. It felt like ages ago, though it had only been hours.

"We have bigger concerns than a stupid video game," Steve chastised. "Dr. Rhodes could be paralyzed."

"There's also a chance he won't be," Quill pointed out.

"I admire your optimism, but it's folly to ignore the very real possibility that this could be a permanent, debilitating injury."

"Which is exactly why I'm trying not to think about it too much."

"Guys, stop fighting," Tony insisted. He could feel Parker tense up beside them at the hint of ire in Steve and Quill's voices. The last thing any of them needed right now was to start arguing over something stupid.

"Sorry," Steve apologized immediately. Quill took a few moments before doing the same. Tony sighed and almost missed the feeling of his phone buzzing. He opened it, hoping to see a response to the message he'd sent his father, but it was just some automated email from his high school that he hadn't bothered to unsubscribe from. Tony silently seethed, wondering why Howard couldn't deign to accept the apology or at least ask what it was for.

He considered sending another text to demand a response from the man, but he didn't want to engage with his father with Parker so close by. Parker, who told Tony about foster care, who listed parents and an aunt and uncle when he presented his poem about the responsibility to remember the dead, and who just had a panic attack at the sound of gunshots while muttering "Not again."

Shit.

The kid must have felt him tense up with the realization, because he looked up with a quizzical expression on his face. "You okay?" he asked meekly.

"Yeah," Tony replied—maybe too quickly. He redirected the subject as efficiently as he could by turning the question right back at Parker, "How about you?"

Parker shrugged.

"That's okay. I don't think any of us are going to be perfectly alright for a while after everything that just happened." Honestly, the realization about Parker hit Tony harder than the fact that his second home had just been attacked and his doctor stood at risk of losing the use of his legs.

"Was the seizure really loud?" Thor questioned suddenly. Tony could tell it had just occurred to him that he could've endangered them.

"No, no," Quill assured him. "It wasn't that bad. I doubt it could be heard outside the room."

"I'm surprised I didn't hit my head harder since you couldn't reach any pillows or blankets from back here." Thor rubbed at where he'd smacked against Quill's hand as if expecting a greater degree of pain. Fortunately, the spot on Tony's shirt where Thor had drooled was already dry, so he didn't immediately look at him and feel guilty.

"Tony offered to help," Steve said. Tony shot him a warning look, attempting to communicate that he shouldn't be sharing this information.

"How?" Thor questioned.

Well, there was no getting around it now. "Just let you borrow my shirt, that's all," he insisted. "It would've been way louder and more dangerous if your head smacked against the bare ground."

"Thank you," Thor said earnestly. "I'm sorry I put you—any of you—in that position."

"Thor, it's not your fault," Clint said. "You can't control it."

"I know. But it still sucks."

"Why are we still on floor?" Natasha asked.

"That's actually a really good question," Happy chimed in. "I know you don't want to disperse just yet, but there's no reason for us to still be hiding behind the sofa." The rest of the group migrated to the sofas and chairs in the common room. Tony moved his arm to stand up, but Parker latched onto him like he'd clung to Happy.

"Parker, I'm not going anywhere. I just need to stand up," Tony told him. The boy seemed hesitant, but he let go long enough for Tony to get his feet underneath him. He took Parker's hands and they stood up together. Parker's legs shook like a newborn deer's, but he managed to stay upright long enough for them to plop onto the couch side by side. He burrowed as closely into Tony's side as he could manage.

"As far as craziest things to happen in this hospital, where does this rank?" Tony asked the assembled group. Steve had been coming here the longest, and Happy and Peggy had worked here for ages. If anyone remembered incidents of comparable intensity, it would be one of them.

"This probably ranks number one on my list," Steve stated frankly.

"Any close seconds?" Quill inquired.

"The hacking of Carol's heart monitor is definitely up there. Parker, you remember that, don't you?" Bucky asked.

Parker merely nodded.

"They grounded us for two whole days after that," Bucky said.

"What exactly did you do to it?" Tony asked. He feared they might decide to run a similar experiment with his own monitoring equipment.

"I honestly don't know. It was Carol's own idea and she did all the work; Parker and I just watched. But we got punished too because we didn't stop her."

"You know you should have," Peggy reminded them.

"Yeah, but I knew trying to stop Carol would be a losing battle, so I didn't bother wasting my energy," Bucky countered.

"He's right. Carol was impossible to stop," Clint added. "But I think you're forgetting about an even crazier story."

"What's that?"

"Steve, remember what Scott did that one time?"

"Oh man, you're right! How could I forget about Scott?" Steve thought aloud. Tony glanced around, wondering if everyone else already knew the story of Clint and Steve's old friend from years ago. Nobody seemed confused by the name, so he figured they'd all been provided the same information he was.

"What happened?" Thor asked.

"Little Scott single-handedly conducted the worst string of serial pickpocketing I've ever encountered," Steve explained.

"Exactly how many strings of serial pickpocketing have you encountered, Steve?" Tony questioned.

"That's not important. This one was definitely the worst."

"Who exactly did he pickpocket?" Quill asked.

"Everyone," Clint said. "Any nurse or doctor that went near him lost their ID badge, or a pen…one time even a stethoscope."

"I nearly forgot about the stethoscope," Steve sighed. "To this day I still have no idea how he managed to snatch that right off her neck. I mean, where would he have hidden it?"

"That's what made it so crazy. I asked him to teach me, but he wouldn't."

"He probably did not want you to turn his skills against him," Natasha remarked.

"I know, but I promised him I'd never use it on him. He never stole anything from me."

"Did he get caught?" Quill asked, seemingly surprised he was the only one wondering about that.

"Yeah, they eventually realized he was the common denominator and he confessed," Steve clarified. "I don't know where he learned, but he was darn good at it. Got a kick out of it too. I think he only told the truth because he was running out of room to stash everything he'd collected."

Tony sighed, wondering how long after this incident Scott succumbed to his cancer. It both pained and enlivened him to hear stories about the others' friends that had since passed away. On the one hand, he despised the fact that their lives had been terminated so soon, but on the other, he understood that preserving memories of them was far more important. Those that knew them couldn't spend all their time focusing on the fact that they were no longer here. More than anything, Tony wished he could have known these amazing people. Telling stories about them could only bring them to life to a certain degree.

Between the terrifying experience they'd just endured, the sensation of Parker's exhausted form tucked up next to him, and the discussion of the late Scott, Tony's thoughts drifted to a rather dark place. Steve and Clint eagerly talked about Scott and shared fond memories; and they often did the same with Carol. How many other patients had they coexisted with here and then lost to illness? And of those, how many would come up in a conversation like this? What did it take to transcend from hospital acquaintance to true friend, someone who would be fondly remembered if they died? Tony had no idea where he stood on this spectrum, so he couldn't help but wonder how his friends would act later on if the unspeakable happened to him. If he passed away, would his friends remember him and tell fun stories about him to the next patients to take up residence at Gravesen…or would he fall into the nameless ranks of hospital mortality statistics?


	20. The Falcon's Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to outline my update schedule for this story, so here it is: new chapters go up on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and occasionally also on Monday if I want to speed the story along. There will be 41 chapters total.

Apparently a resolved Code Silver did nothing to affect their curfew, so Happy mandated everyone return to their rooms at eight in the evening, despite staunch protests. Parker was still reluctant to leave Tony's side, so he walked the younger boy to his room and reminded him he was always welcome to seek him out should he need anything.

"Thanks," Parker mumbled. He still hadn't spoken a full sentence or at full volume since the incident, but he also hadn't retreated any further into himself, which Tony viewed as a good sign.

"You're welcome. Good night," Tony replied before heading back to his own room. Man, what a day. What a couple of days, more accurately. Clint's scans and the confrontation between Tony and his father had occurred only yesterday. It was hard to believe. Tony knew he ought to consider getting some sleep, but his brain refused to quiet long enough for him to settle down. He couldn't turn in while there were still so many things to worry about.

Clint's scan results hadn't come back yet. Or if they had, he hadn't shared them. Possibly he was planning to before their afternoon was derailed by the gun threat. What Bruce had said about Tony's relationship with his father also stuck in his head and refused to fade: "Your dad looks at you like you don't deserve to be alive? That's concerning." Until that comment, Tony hadn't thought much of his father's treatment of him. Sure, he wasn't the most caring or involved dad, but he wasn't physically abusive or anything like that. It could certainly be much worse.

But he had to admit the lack of response to his apology text had stung. Maybe he'd work up the courage to confront Howard about it next time they met in person, whenever that happened. Hospital security would likely increase dramatically for the foreseeable future until the paranoia died down. But most importantly, he worried about Rhodes. He trusted Strange's capabilities as a surgeon, but what if the injury proved beyond his skills? Not even the best surgeon in the world could fix certain issues, especially where the spinal cord was involved. If Rhodes was paralyzed, how would that impact his career? He'd still be able to work as a cardiologist after he recovered…right?

Sleep eluded him for another two hours after he usually passed out for the night. He couldn't hear anything from his shared wall with Steve, so either he was asleep or silently doing some other activity. Tony hoped he managed to sleep. He hoped he was the only one unable to fall asleep, although he doubted the stress of the day would lend itself to a restful night for all of them. A few minutes later, a knock at his door proved his point. He stood up and crept to the door, opening it slowly so as not to make any noise. Parker stood in the hallway, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt that dwarfed his small frame and clutching a stuffed Chewbacca to his chest.

"Can't sleep?" Tony asked knowingly. Parker shook his head, and Tony stepped back to invite him inside. He shuffled in meekly and sat down on the foot of the bed. Tony sat by the head and turned to face him, concerned by the tear tracks staining his face and the redness of his eyes.

"Do you want to talk, or do you just need the company?" Parker opened his mouth to answer, but quickly closed it again. He shook his head and hugged the toy even tighter. "Could you pass me Jarvis, then?" Tony requested. The bear sat behind Parker, far out of Tony's reach. He passed it forward with trembling hands, and Tony accepted. Several minutes elapsed in silence before Parker finally spoke up.

"I'm sorry for freaking out," he mumbled solemnly. Tony's heart shuddered at the sheer amount of misery conveyed in his tone.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Tony assured him. "That was really scary; I was freaking out too."

"Not like me."

"There's no reason to be sorry for reacting negatively to a crisis like that. I'm sure you have…reasons," Tony said hesitantly. He knew Parker suffered some form of trauma in his past; he just didn't know exactly what that entailed. He could only guess based on what information Parker shared and what happened today. At this point, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know the whole story.

"I thought I was getting better."

"One bad day doesn't mean you aren't."

"One _terrible_ day," Parker corrected.

"One terrible day still doesn't define you, kiddo."

"Did you just call me kiddo?"

Tony stammered, just as surprised at the nickname as Parker. "Umm—I think so? I don't know where that came from, I'm sorry. I'm only like three years older than you…that was weird."

"Just a little weird, old man," he said with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, I see how it is. Was that your way of exacting revenge?" Tony questioned.

"Maybe."

"I may have the heart of an eighty-year-old, but the rest of me is as young and spry as you are."

"You _are_ hugging a teddy bear," Parker pointed out.

"And you're hugging a Wookie. I see no difference."

"Fair enough."

Tony chuckled. When he was much younger and insistent on staying up way past his bedtime, he used to reach a point of resolutely denying tiredness that left him practically loopy, giggling like a maniac at anything with even the slightest comedic value. His mother lovingly called the condition "the Sleepy Stupids." Tony suspected he and Parker suffered from something similar now, although a more apt name for this particular version would be "the Super Stressed-Out Stupids." The events of the day had caused so much anxiety to build up that now, as the last of it finally drained out, they swung far in the other direction.

"Do I really make a good pillow?" Tony asked. He was only half-joking; the other half genuinely wanted to know this information.

Parker shrugged. "Almost as good as Carol."

"And how would you know that?"

"You're not the first person I've glued myself to after a panic attack."

Tony couldn't help but feel a little jealous that he wasn't the only one Parker trusted enough to be a comfort after that. He should've figured someone else had played that role before. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to change the subject.

"How's your friend Ned?" Tony asked, remembering the friend Parker told him he talked to almost every day.

"He says Arizona is way too hot, but he really loves his new family and his new friends at school."

"Well that's good."

"He also misses me a lot. And I really miss him too. But I try not to focus on that because the only reason I have to miss him is because his foster kid dream came true. If I didn't miss him, he still wouldn't have a family."

"That's very mature of you," Tony commended. His own family was less than perfect—just _how much_ less he was quickly beginning to realize—but it certainly beat having no family at all. He suspected friends like Ned and other children Parker had met before coming to Gravesen were the closest thing to a family Parker currently had, but now Ned had moved away to be a part of another family. Watching his friend get adopted by loving parents while he got sent to a hospital ought to sting, yet Parker showed no signs of jealousy or anything of the sort. It was a testament to the kid's goodness.

"Two minutes ago you were calling me kiddo, now I'm mature? Make up your mind," Parker chided.

"You are very mature for ten."

"I'm thirteen."

"I take it back then." Parker threw Chewbacca at him. "I'm keeping this," Tony warned.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh yes I would."

"Give it back."

Tony considered holding on to the toy, but one look at Parker's face and he tossed it back. He couldn't find it in himself to keep anything from him, even for such a short time. He decided to change the subject once again. "Have you met Ned's adopted parents?"

"Yeah, of course. They visited a lot before they came to bring him home."

"How are they?"

"They're super nice. And they really listen to Ned. I mean, _really_ listen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, any kid older than three or four who gets adopted inevitably comes with a backstory they can actually remember and some emotional baggage. It's very different than raising a kid abandoned at a fire station at birth or something. But they respect that Ned doesn't want to tell them all about his birth parents. I feel like some parents would push and push until he talked about it, just to satisfy their curiosity. But Ned's new folks aren't like that at all. They also watched all of Star Wars just so they'd have more in common with him."

"That's really sweet."

"Yeah."

"Is that the kind of people you hope might eventually…adopt you?" Tony asked hesitantly.

"I guess so. I don't want to go into it a lot, but my birth parent situation is very different than Ned's, so I feel like that part would automatically be different. I haven't given potential adopted parents much thought since I've been here, though."

"I guess you've got bigger fish to fry at the moment."

"You could say that."

"Well, whatever happens, or doesn't happen, I just hope you end up happy."

~0~

Happy found them the next morning dead asleep on Tony's bed, still curled up tightly at the top and bottom so they didn't accidentally hit each other. "What's going on here?" he asked. Tony expected anger, but all he could identify was a sense of "I should have seen this coming."

"Slumber party," Parker mumbled sleepily.

"I see that."

"How's Dr. Rhodes?" Tony inquired once he awakened enough to remember his main concerns from the previous day.

"Strange successfully got the bullet out, and at this point it looks like he avoided paraplegia."

"Are you serious?"

"Tony, this is not something I would ever joke about. Rhodes is okay."

"I know, but it just seems too good to be true." In all honesty, Tony had been convinced the nurses underplayed the severity of the situation so as not to alarm them any more than they already were. To hear that Rhodes had escaped permanent disability pleasantly surprised him.

"How are you guys?" Happy asked.

"Really tired," Parker sighed. Neither of them had gotten as much sleep as they should, and Tony figured a panic attack like that would sap a lot of energy.

"Tony, you've got to take your morning meds, and Parker you still have session with Dr. Wilson today. Actually, Dr. Wilson wants to talk to all of you at some point today."

"All of us?" Tony had never had an appointment with the psychiatrist before. Frankly, the notion unnerved him.

"Yes. He wants to check in on you all after yesterday. Do you think you're up for that?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Tony, don't be scared," Parker teased. "He's really nice. And he usually lets you pick what you want to talk about."

Parker stood up and stretched with his Chewbacca still clutched in one hand. Jarvis had fallen on the floor overnight, so Tony replaced him with Butterfingers and Dum-E at the foot of the bed. He took his meds just as Parker and Happy were leaving, both dreading and anticipating this session with the Falcon. The intended purpose he knew was to minimize lasting trauma from the incident yesterday, but Tony didn't really think he needed a consult for that. The hospital knew how to handle the situation and ensured their safety successfully. He hadn't witnessed any of the violence firsthand, and he didn't have any previous association like Parker clearly did. Maybe he could take advantage of the time and heed Bruce's advice to discuss his father.

~0~

Dr. Wilson's office was far bigger and looked far more comfortable than Tony expected. He stood outside the door while Quill finished his session. Quill said a quick hello on his way out, and Tony took a deep breath before stepping inside. The Falcon sat in a chair across from a sofa and various different chairs—so the patient could choose which they felt most comfortable in, Tony figured. Between them sat a table full of every kind of stress toy and fidget in existence.

"Good afternoon Tony," Dr. Wilson greeted with a warm smile. Tony already felt scrutinized under that piercing gaze and marveled at the aptness of his nickname.

"Good afternoon," he said back uneasily. He took a few seconds to decide where to sit before settling himself on the right side of the sofa, tucked into the arm.

"How are you today?"

"Pretty good, all things considered. But I didn't sleep much last night."

"Why is that?"

"I just had a lot on my mind. And Parker couldn't sleep either, so he came over."

"Parker came into your room?"

"Yeah. I know we're not supposed to leave after curfew, but I couldn't just send him back. And Happy didn't even get mad about it."

"It's okay. I'm not here to out you or Parker for breaking curfew. Given the circumstances, a need for company is understandable. What did you and Parker do once he came to your room?"

"We just talked," Tony explained.

"About?"

Tony searched him brain to recall their topics of discussion. "A little bit about the stressful day we'd just had. His friend Ned and his adopted parents. Plus it was really late at night, so we joked and teased each other a bit. Nothing revelatory."

"Okay. And how about that stressful day you all had? How do you think you're coping with it?"

"I think I'm okay, to be honest. Peggy and Happy were with us and told us exactly what to do, so I didn't feel as unsafe as I definitely could have if the circumstances had been different. My parents were way more worried than I was."

"Have you spoken to them?"

"Yeah. My mom called me right after they gave the all clear. She and my dad were watching live news feed of outside the hospital. They were understandably concerned."

"That's good that you were able to reassure them so soon afterwards."

"Yeah, I guess." Tony thought about the text. He knew he should mention the text, mention everything about his father that had been bugging him since the incident with Natasha and the conversation with Bruce, but he couldn't bring himself to broach the subject. If he opened that can of worms, it would spill out all over the place and he'd probably never clean himself of it. But if he let it stew any longer it might start to stink.

The Falcon must have noticed his expression morphing into uncertainty because he asked, "Something on your mind?"

Tony bit the bullet and just said it. "Things with my father have been…different since I got hospitalized."

"Different how so?"

"Well he's always been kinda distant—that's just him, hyperfocused on work—but now it's gotten worse."

"Worse how so?"

"He basically avoids me altogether. During the Code Silver, I texted him an apology, you know just in case things went really bad, and I saw that he read it but he didn't even respond."

"What were you apologizing for?"

"There was an…incident…the day before."

"Can you describe this incident?"

Tony recounted the events with as much detail as he thought necessary, from his parents' arrival at the chemo clinic through his shouting match with his father. He tried to pay attention to Dr. Wilson's facial expression during his account, but he must've been trained not to react bodily to even the most shocking stories. Actually, Tony's story probably didn't even make his top ten for shocking tales.

"Do you really believe that your father doesn't want you spending time with Natasha because of her country of origin?"

"That's the thing: I don't. He said he didn't want me associating with people like her, especially in a place like this, and the only way I thought to interpret that was her being Russian. I still can't think of any other meaning of 'people like her' that explains his actions."

"I'm afraid that's not a question I can answer. Have you considered just asking him what he meant?"

"What? No!"

"Why not?"

"He wouldn't deign to explain himself to me," Tony scoffed. Throughout his childhood, whenever he asked his father a question, the answer was almost always something along the lines of 'You should be smart enough to figure it out for yourself.'

"What do you mean by that?"

"He expects me to be able to work it out. Either that, or he doesn't want me to know the truth."

"Why wouldn't he want that?"

"Hell if I know."

"Take a guess," Wilson encouraged.

"If he's that reluctant to reveal it, then it's probably some secret that stains the family reputation or something. That's about all he really cares about."

"Tony, I'm going to give you a suggestion. You're not going to like it, but there's only so much I can do on this end with the information you've given me."

"Shoot," Tony prompted. He knew what advice was coming, but that didn't lessen his dread of hearing it instructed aloud.

"You really need to talk to your father about this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note just because I'm really excited: Natasha, Bucky, and Steve's prequels are complete! Most likely the first one to get published after all the chapters of Gravesen come out will be Natasha's.


	21. Budapest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a heaping dose of fluff to cleanse the palate after the roller coaster that was the past few chapters.

Tony put off that difficult conversation with his father for as long as possible. Which, it turned out, was indefinitely. His parents didn't come to visit again, so he didn't have to confront Howard in person, and whenever they called it was only his mother on the line. He didn't have a mandatory follow-up with Dr. Wilson, so the issue simply fell to the back of his mind.

Parker remained visibly shaken for a few days after the Code Silver, but he continually improved until he seemed almost back to normal. Fortunately, everyone was coping pretty well, at least as far as Tony could observe. He had no idea what each of them had discussed in their private session with the Falcon or whether they were receiving any other extra help to handle what had happened. The only noticeable difference was any kid got escorted anytime they left the ward to go to the chemo clinic or anyone's office. Tony wasn't sure if this was a temporary or permanent change in security protocol, but it wasn't that drastic, all things considered. It was better than being placed on permanent modified lockdown.

On the next therapy dog day, they brought even more guests than usual. Rocket and Groot were accompanied by four more dogs, much to the delight of everyone but Steve, who holed himself up in his room and said he wasn't going near anyone until they all showered and changed clothes. The extra caution helped him avoid another episode like that from the day of Bucky's surgery.

A stocky boxer with a dark grey and reddish brindled coat named Drax waltzed right up to Tony and demanded attention. Once Tony began petting him, he laid impossibly still. Quill was practically enamored with another dog called Gamora, staring into her eyes as if she held the answers to all life's questions. Clint and Natasha snuggled with a blue Australian Cattle Dog called Nebula. Bruce, who actually showed up to dog day despite not usually doing so, gently stroked a sleek black dog with pointy, white-tipped ears called Mantis. Thor played a rough game of tug-of-war with Rocket while Parker and Nick monopolized Groot. Bucky skipped the dogs to hang out with Steve so he wouldn't be completely alone. It was much easier for everyone here to get their fill of puppy love with more dogs to go around.

"Are they all going to come every time?" Thor asked eagerly.

"That's the plan, yeah," Maria told them. The level of excitement in the room kicked up a notch. The only person who could ever say no to more dogs was Steve, but he wasn't here to complain. It wouldn't affect his routine on dog days much anyway, although Tony felt bad that he couldn't share in the joy of this prospect. Maybe the staff would arrange something special for him too; he didn't deserve to be the only one without a reason to be excited just because of his allergies.

"How was your session with Dr. Wilson?"

Tony looked up and found Bruce sitting across from him, one hand on Drax's flank while Nick turned to pet Mantis in his absence. "It went okay. He obviously didn't diagnose any deep psychological problems or I'd be going back for seconds, wouldn't I?"

"I suppose. I know he talked to everyone after the Code Silver, but I remember mentioning that you should speak with him about what you told me the other day. I guess I was just wondering if you made any progress on that."

Tony was surprised yet moved at the genuine concern in Bruce's voice. Though he didn't entirely appreciate digging up the issue of his father again. He explained, "We talked about it a bit, and he gave me some decent advice." What he didn't say was how he all but refused to heed said advice.

"That's good to hear. The Falcon's advice has worked for me at least nine times out of ten; I can vouch for his skills in this department."

"Thanks. How about these new dogs?" Tony asked, changing the subject dramatically. He hoped he didn't u-turn the conversation quickly enough to raise suspicion.

"It's fantastic that they're bringing even more. I'm sure sharing two dogs among so many people isn't easy." Bruce and Tony fell silent and listened in to the conversations going on between their friends as the various dogs played and cuddled with everyone.

"I wish they had this many dogs the whole time," Clint said. "More dogs equals more happy. This many dogs could have made even going to Budapest less horrible."

"What did he just say?" Tony asked quietly to Bruce. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Bruce whispered back. Apparently they weren't the only ones confused by Clint's statement.

"You went to Budapest? When?" Natasha questioned.

"Twice a few weeks apart during my first year or so of treatment. It sucked."

"Why did you go to Budapest and not stay here?"

"What are you guys talking about?" Quill chimed in. "Since when have you ever been to Europe?"

"Yeah, Clint, when did you travel to Europe?" Tony and Bruce asked too.

"It's just an expression," Clint explained.

"I've never heard that expression," Thor said.

"That's because he made it up," Nick stated. "He's really the only one who ever uses it."

"That's not true," Clint countered.

"Yes it is."

"What does the expression mean?" Tony asked.

"Going to Budapest means having abdominal surgery," Clint informed them.

"You need a better expression," Quill said bluntly.

"Yeah, what does that even mean?" Tony questioned. "What's the connection?"

"I call it going to Budapest because you're not allowed to eat for a while afterwards and you get so hungry," Clint explained matter-of-factly.

"That does not make sense," Natasha said.

"Yes it does. Budapest is the capital of Hungary, and not being allowed to eat makes you hungry. Hungary, hungry. Got it?"

"I think your analogy is very complicated," Tony said. "But I admire the creativity behind it."

"Thank you. I hope none of you ever have to go to Budapest."

"I have been there," Natasha said blatantly.

"Have you been to the real Budapest?" Thor asked. "How far away is it from your hometown?"

"I do not know, I have not been. I have been to Clint's Budapest."

"It's the worst, isn't it?" Clint asked, enthusiastic to have an empathetic companion. Natasha nodded emphatically. "Honestly I'd take any amount of pain or nausea over starving for two days."

"Hunger was worse," Natasha corroborated.

"I get that my gut needs to heal from being messed with, but adding hunger to pain and tiredness is a lethal combination."

"Well now I consider myself lucky it's only my chest that'll ever be opened up," Tony stated.

"That doesn't sound much better," Thor remarked.

"Well none of it sounds good," Parker said with a hint of nervousness.

"Of course not. It's just a matter of what's worse," Quill said.

"Budapest," Clint called.

"Yeah, that." Quill pointed back at Clint.

"I'm starting to feel like we need a city nickname for every type of surgery, just to balance it out," Tony said.

"I second that," Quill said.

"Steve's the ultimate authority on this, but I'm leaning towards anything related to lungs being Buenos Aires," Tony joked.

"Buenos Aires, Argentina?" Bruce asked. "Why?"

"It means 'good air' in Spanish. Lungs move air. Seems fitting."

"I guess so," Parker said.

"Brain surgery could be Anchorage," Quill pointed out.

"Why?" Thor asked.

"They have to anchor your head to the table," he explained.

"That sounds awful," Parker said.

"It wasn't that bad. Just four little holes."

"I have to ask because this has been bugging me forever," Tony finally spoke up about a question that had been burning in the back of his head ever since he found out about Quill's brain tumor. "Were you awake or asleep for it?"

"Asleep! Definitely asleep," he answered firmly. "I wasn't a good candidate for awake, so they just sacrificed removing some of it to avoid cutting out parts of my brain I still need."

"Are you sure they didn't cut out anything important?" Thor asked teasingly.

"Very funny," Quill spat. "Yes, I'm sure."

"I like Anchorage and Buenos Aires," Clint said. "But there's still more we need to come up with."

Natasha smirked. "I have one for open heart."

"What is it?" Tony asked.

"Warsaw."

Tony burst out laughing. "I love it."

"I don't get it," Thor said, confused.

"Because…because they have to saw…the sternum open," Tony managed to explain between giggles.

"First of all, that's horrible," Bruce stated.

"Not as horrible as the one I just thought of," Parker said with a nearly malicious smile.

"Oh this I've gotta hear," Tony said.

"Bucky is the only one of us who's been here," he began.

"I don't like where this is going," Quill said cautiously.

"Cleveland."

Not even Bruce could contain his laughter after that one.

~0~

Tony stared at the collection of cards in his hand. Two wheat, one brick, and one sheep. He let his gaze fall across the board in front of him, at Steve's road that intersected his own and Steve's rather formidable collection of cards. Tony knew he was about to build a settlement and cut off Tony's longest road, which would result in Tony losing two points. He had no means of stopping him if Steve decided to cut him off, so he needed to regain the points some other way. He was no longer a novice at Catan, after that disastrous first game he'd played plenty more and even won a few. Today he faced off against Steve, Nick, and Thor, with Bucky and Clint refereeing. The referees of this game took on the collective name 'Council of Catan' because it sounded official.

Nick rolled for his turn and Tony picked up an additional card, a wood this time. Now he had enough for a settlement, so if Steve held off on bisecting his road he could take over the spot on his next turn. He could only hope. Nick set down enough cards for a settlement and placed his own little blue house along his road—but he placed it only one space away from one of Thor's, which was forbidden.

"Nick, that's against the distance rule," Bucky informed him, holding one half of the rule book while Clint held the other in front of their faces.

"So?"

"You can't put a settlement that close to another settlement," Clint added.

"That's a dumb rule."

"We didn't make them up; we're just enforcing them," Bucky said.

"Nick, just put it somewhere else," Thor told him.

"I don't want to. This spot is on a six."

"I know it's a good spot, but nobody can build there," Clint repeated.

"You all asked us to referee, and that's exactly what we're doing," Bucky said.

"Yeah, they're the Council of Catan and they have final say," Steve added.

"I recognize the council has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it."

"You can't just ignore a Council of Catan ruling," Tony said. He knew; he'd tried to sneak in subtly illegal moves on multiple occasions and he always got caught. Gravesen residents took their jobs refereeing very seriously.

"Fine," Nick spat. He moved the settlement another space farther along his road and set it down on an intersection between a twelve rock and a ten sheep. It certainly wasn't a good spot by any stretch of the imagination; Tony could see why Nick fought so hard for the other one. "Your move."

Sure enough, Steve cut off Tony's road and smugly snatched the Longest Road card from him. Tony stuck his tongue out at him. "Very mature," Steve said. On Tony's turn, he rolled a seven, immediately moved a robber to Steve's most productive hex, and stole a card from him. Catan almost always turned into a game of petty vengeance, and this round was no exception.

"Where's Natasha?" Tony asked after a few more turns. Clint almost never refereed without her.

"The OR," Clint replied bluntly.

"Wait, what? Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine. That's just where they need to take her to administer spinal chemo," Bucky explained.

"Spinal chemo?" Tony had never heard of such a concept. He thought it was all intravenous or oral.

"Yeah. It's a part of her regimen, to kill the leukemia cells in her spinal fluid," Clint said. An explanation for such a complex medical issue sounded alien coming from a ten-year-old's mouth, but after six years Clint knew more about the specifics of this kind of thing than many pre-medical students.

"She'll probably be down for the count with a lumbar puncture headache for the rest of the day," Bucky added.

"But you know she said no to sedation again, so at least she won't have to sleep off anesthesia," Clint said.

"She's crazy," Nick sighed. "Never accepts sedation if it's optional. I can't imagine doing half the stuff she does unless I was drugged up to my eyeball."

Tony ruminated on his use of the singular for a second before he recognized that Nick had twisted the expression 'drugged up to my eyeballs' to suit his own situation. The corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.

"The resources in this game are so primitive. Why can't I settle on a hex that produces something useful like Midazolam?" Nick asked, turning back to the board.

"So what I'm hearing is that we need to write to the producers of this game and request they make a hospital version?" Steve said.

"I'm not wasting my Make-a-Wish on hospital Catan," Clint insisted.

"Me neither," Bucky said.

"Wait, how many of you have a Wish?" Tony asked. Clint, Bucky, and Nick raised their hands.

"Lucky," Thor spat.

"And you haven't used it yet?" Tony continued.

"No, I spent mine right when I got it. I was only six, so the concept of patience did not exist."

"What did you get to do?" Clint asked.

"I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Nick stated.

"Very funny," Bucky said. "But really, how'd you spend it? I need some inspiration for when I eventually do mine."

Nick mimed sealing his lips and locking them, flicking the key away.

"Is he serious?" Thor asked.

"You're not going to tell us?" Tony confirmed. Nick only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's unfortunate that I have to say this right after sharing the publishing schedule, but I'm going to be without internet for the next few days and I won't be able to post on Wednesday like I planned. I'm sorry, but I'll share three chapters next week to make up for it.


	22. The Vibranin Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and with a brief author's note: this chapter is based on a real-life event that occurred in October 2019 with the drug Vincristine. As far as I am aware, the story was not covered by any major news outlet, and I only heard about it because of direct social media connections to families with kids fighting cancer. I found it rather disturbing that an issue which so drastically affected many people went largely unnoticed by the general public. Children's lives were at stake, and the country hardly seemed to care.

The residents of Gravesen thought living in a hospital was the shittiest circumstance they could possibly find themselves in…until they learned about Shield and Hydra.

Bucky found out first. He burst into the classroom late with his phone in his hand, waving it around at a loss for words. "Bucky, what's the matter?" Steve asked, concern radiating from his every pore like heat from an electric blanket. Bucky couldn't muster the breath to speak, just slammed the phone down on the table and shoved it towards Steve. Tony, Quill, and Thor hurriedly gathered around and stared at the device.

Bucky followed several fellow Ewing's sarcoma fighters on social media to exchange moral support and learn about everything going on in terms of treatments and other news. Today one of them posted a video about what had just gone down in the pharmaceutical world and their personal reaction to it. "For the past twenty years, only two major companies have produced the critical antitumor drug Vibranin: Shield and Hydra. As of yesterday, Shield acted upon its proposal to halt distribution entirely because of a lack of profitability. Hospitals across the country expect to experience massive shortages of Vibranin within the week unless Hydra can somehow double its production overnight. Thousands of children fighting cancer may not receive the medicine that is keeping them alive. Thanks Shield. It' s nice to know that your profit margins are more important than saving lives."

The video concluded, and the huddled kids stood in stunned silence. The Ancient One finally turned around from writing the day's material on the chalkboard and rapped her knuckles on her desk to draw their attention. "Why aren't you in your seats?" she asked sternly.

"There's a crisis," Bucky announced, finally finding his voice.

"A crisis?"

"The country's gonna run out of Vibranin and we're all gonna die," Bucky spluttered.

A split second later, the other kids infiltrated the classroom, Clint and Natasha shouting, "We're all gonna die!"

"Stop this nonsense!" the Ancient One commanded. "Everyone to your seats, now! Young ones, get out and I will see you in ninety minutes."

The rest of them started to back out, but Natasha stood her ground and stated simply, "No."

"Our survival is more important than our education," Bucky said.

"What is all this drivel about dying? What happened?"

"Shield stopped producing Vibranin," Clint explained. "Some of us are on that drug." Bucky and Natasha nodded. Eventually, the rest joined in for solidarity.

"They stopped because it wasn't profitable enough," Bucky growled. "Fucking big pharma!"

"Language," the Ancient One scolded. "There's no need to act like children."

"But we are children," Clint countered.

"And clearly nobody cares whether we live or die," Quill added.

"Of course people care," the Ancient One said. "I understand why you're upset, but I'm afraid there's nothing you can do but hope it works out."

"Don't tell me I can't do anything. If it's all the same to you, I'm willing to put in some effort when my life is on the line," Bucky said, punctuating his statement by pounding his fist on the desk in finality. He stood up, leveled the Ancient One with a try-and-stop-me glare, turned, and strode out. Steve was the first to follow him out. Next Clint and Natasha. Then Quill, Nick, and Parker. Finally, the rest of the kids gathered in the classroom ignored the Ancient One's protests and left without looking back.

Tony, at the back of the pack, wondered where exactly they were going. What could a bunch of kids do to convince an enormous company that increasing their profit margins was a bad thing?

They marched through the hospital and straight to Dr. Potts' office, where Bucky harshly knocked on the door. No answer. He tried again. Still nothing. "She must be with patients," Bucky muttered. He set off in a new direction, and the rest of the group followed blindly. They ended up in the chemo clinic. Jane, one of the pediatric oncology nurses, startled at the sight of such a large group storming the clinic.

"Have you heard?" Bucky asked.

"Heard what?"

"Shield cut production of Vibranin."

"That's awful!"

"We know it is. We need to know who we can talk to in order to fix it."

"Well, I'm sure the proper authorities here will ensure that all of you who need it get your Vibranin."

"We do not care if we get it if we are only kids who get it," Natasha stated firmly.

"We don't want to let any kid in any hospital go without," Quill confirmed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you," Jane admitted. "Did you try Dr. Potts?"

"She's not in her office."

"Dr. Lee?"

"That's a great idea," Bucky said. Now they hurried to the president's office. Before Bucky's fist could even touch the door, it opened to reveal Dr. Lee.

"I know what you're going to say, and I'm already on it."

"Really?" Bucky asked.

"Yes. I've been on the phone with colleagues all day. Gravesen's supply of Vibranin is secure for at least two weeks, and we're now trying to help other hospitals."

"Fantastic." The entire group breathed a massive sigh of relief. "What can we do?" Bucky asked.

"Just spread the word. By any means you can."

"Okay."

"Well don't just stand there, get going!"

They scurried back to the common room and immediately started brainstorming. On the way, Tony took the short time to ponder this situation. To think, thirty minutes ago he'd thought that the worst part about today would be going to class. Now the lives of several of his friends hung in the balance. Usually, a passion took time to develop, but he instantly cared about this cause as deeply as he'd ever cared for anything before. How would it feel to know that your life was valued below money in the eyes of the very people responsible for maintaining your life?

He completely understood Bucky's rampage.

"So, what can we do?" Steve questioned, looking fully prepared to march to war against Shield.

"Well, we can start with social media. Anybody have a Facebook?" Quill asked.

"We're not forty years old," Tony drawled.

"That was a joke," Quill hummed.

"Guys, this is not a joke," Bucky said sternly. "Dr. Lee might have said that we're stocked for a while, but lots of other hospitals aren't and that means lots of other kids might go without their Vibranin and be that much more likely to die or relapse because they missed a dose."

"Sorry. I know it's no joke, I just needed to lighten the mood a little," Quill admitted.

"I found an online petition to get the issue seen by the national government," Steve announced.

"Fantastic!" Bucky exclaimed. "How many signatures does it have already?"

"About twenty thousand. It needs a hundred thousand to end up on the president's desk."

"Well, we have," he paused to count the people in the room, "Nine right here. And I'm sure we could get all the doctors and nurses here to sign if we asked."

"That's a great idea," Thor said.

"Wait a minute," Steve drew all their attention. "Tony, isn't your dad the face of a multi-billion dollar tech company?"

"Umm, yeah. Why?" Tony worried where this line of inquiry might lead. He hadn't really spoken to his father since the incident with Natasha and the Code Silver afterwards. Their relationship was strained at best, and Tony doubted the man would take too kindly to being suddenly asked a favor that didn't directly benefit him by the son he barely recognized he had.

"What if we could get him to make some sort of statement? That would get so many people's attention."

"That would be amazing," Clint said eagerly, eyes alight with hope.

Tony hated to crush that hope, but he couldn't promise them anything from his father. "Look, I dunno if he'd be willing to do that. He's very goal oriented."

"He is your father," Natasha said. "Why would he not do something to help his son?"

"He can be difficult sometimes," Tony admitted.

"You at least have to ask," Bucky told him. "For our sake."

Tony glanced around the room at this small fraction of all the people who depended on this drug to survive. He couldn't deny them this because of a fear of his father. Worst case scenario, Howard Stark said no, that pleading for a cause unrelated to his company's mission would ruin his public image. Then Tony would have to let all of them down by admitting that their best hope for spreading the word refused to help them. And Tony was related to that curmudgeon of a best hope. New worst case scenario: they hated his father for what he did and by extension hated him too. But he still had to try.

"I'll go call him," Tony said and headed back to his room. He dreaded every step that brought him closer to this inevitably uncomfortable conversation with his father. He picked up the phone and, to kill time, dialed by hand instead of just scrolling through his contacts. Howard Stark always picked up on the third ring, never earlier or later. If the third ring passed and he hadn't picked up, he wasn't going to answer. Tony held his breath as the first two rings sounded.

"Tony?" his father's voice greeted.

"Hey Dad."

"What's the matter? You should have called your mother, she can be there sooner."

"No, I don't need either of you to come here. I'm fine."

"Then why are you calling me in the middle of a weekday?" He hadn't even attempted to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"There's a bit of a crisis going on right now in the pharmaceutical industry," Tony explained. "Shield completely shut down their production of the drug Vibranin, which is crucial in treating many types of cancer."

"And this matters…why?"

"People are going to die, Dad," Tony stated, fed up with his father's lack of sympathy. If Tony was in charge of Stark Industries, he'd redirect them to start producing Vibranin themselves. "A lot of my friends here rely on that drug. We talked to the president of Gravesen, and he said that patients here would be okay for a few weeks, but plenty of other hospitals are going to start running out. And soon."

"What do expect me to do about it? Stark Industries is not a pharmacy."

"I know, I know. It's just that my friends wanted me to ask if you'd be willing to make a public statement about the issue to raise awareness."

"A public statement? About a drug shortage that has absolutely nothing to do with my company?"

"Yes," Tony confirmed meekly.

"Tony, you do realize what you're asking me to do."

"Yeah, I know it's not going to benefit you at all. But it might save lives, and it would make my friends really happy. It would make me really happy." The line went silent, and for a moment Tony feared his father had hung up on him. In a last ditch effort, Tony added, "There aren't many things for me to be really happy about anymore. Please."

"Okay." Then he hung up. Tony pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in shock, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Did Howard Stark just agree to philanthropy? Tony didn't believe it. He hurried back to the common room to deliver the good news.

"Well…?" Bucky asked, looking up at Tony in anticipation.

"He said, 'Okay.'"

The room erupted in cheering and raucous applause. Tony may or may not have blushed.

~0~

Tony had no idea what the scope of his father's public statement would be. His father hadn't contacted him to forewarn him or tell him anything about what he planned to do or when. Dr. Potts visited all of her patients to reassure them that the shortage would not alter their chemo doses for the foreseeable future. He'd never seen people so relieved to be told they wouldn't get less poison after all.

Their only clue came when Happy told them to tune into the news at six o'clock that evening for a special announcement. They begged him to tell them what it was about or how he knew, but he refused to give them any more information. Everyone who was available gathered in front of the TV in the common room at five 'til six, eagerly awaiting this 'special announcement.'

The news program began, and the anchors began by summarizing Shield's actions and their implications for cancer treatment. They did those split-screen interviews with several renowned oncologists and other leaders from around the world, including a figure Tony vaguely recognized with an African accent and Gravesen's own Dr. Potts. Everyone perked up, wondering if this was the special they were promised.

"Vibranin is irreplaceable in these kids' chemotherapy regimens," she explained in response to the anchor's question about why this particular drug was so important. "Without it, they face lower chances of achieving remission and higher chances of relapsing if they do enter remission."

"What are the implications of this shortage?" the anchor continued.

"Hospitals that don't have the stock to treat their patients will have to turn some of them away or give lower doses to ration supply. If the deficit is not picked up somehow, oncologists will have to completely redesign standards of treatment for leukemia, lymphoma, neuroblastoma, Ewing's sarcoma, rhabdomyosarcoma, Wilms' tumor, and some types of brain tumors. By losing this drug, we're losing our primary weapon against these cancers."

"Thank you Dr. Potts," the anchor concluded. The split screen slid back so the screen was once again filled only by the newsroom set. "Now, we go live to a press conference with the head of Hydra Pharmaceuticals, Arnim Zola." The screen cut to footage of a crowded room with a man standing at a podium marked with a tentacled skull, the logo for Hydra.

"As many of you know, Shield Pharmaceuticals has cut production of the cancer-treating drug Vibranin. As of now, Hydra is the only other company that manufactures the drug, but we were not prepared to supply the demand for the entire country. Until now," Zola spoke. He paused, and the assembled kids held their breath in anticipation of whatever he was about to say next. "In an unprecedented demonstration of inter-industrial cooperation, weapons manufacturer Stark Industries has donated a sum sufficient to allow us to reconfigure our facilities to manufacture enough Vibranin to pick up the slack that Shield created."

"What the fuck?" Tony exclaimed reflexively. How was this possible? On the phone, his father had seemed reluctant to even acknowledge that this was a problem, and now he'd gone and shared his fortune with a company he normally would have nothing to do with? His friends shushed him as Zola continued after waiting for the applause to die down.

"Shield may have its own priorities, but here at Hydra we dedicate ourselves to ensuring that nobody faces this monstrous disease without the best treatment options in their corner." Zola delivered the remark with suave confidence, clutching the podium with one hand and pointing to emphasize his point with the other. Tony felt the hope in the room swell enormously.

"Hail Hydra!" Bucky shouted exuberantly.

"Hail Hydra!" Steve echoed.

"Hail Hydra!" everyone joined in, chanting in unison and applauding alongside the press conference attendees on screen. The program cut back to the anchor, who announced a pre-recorded message from Stark Industries' head Howard Stark regarding his interactions with Hydra Pharmaceuticals.

"Shhh," Tony hushed everyone as the screen cut to an image of his father, standing behind a familiar podium. Tony had watched his father present there on countless occasions, but always about some new high-tech weapon or foreign politics.

"Our children are the future of this country," Howard began. "So when I heard that so many of their lives were threatened by the actions of Shield Pharmaceuticals, I reached out to provide aid by whatever means I could. Financially assisting Hydra to make up the difference and eliminate the shortage was the least I could do in the face of such an issue. I hope that other drug manufacturers look at this chain of events and recognize the importance of their jobs so that we as a nation never have to face a crisis of this caliber again. Thank you."

The news cut back to the anchors, who then transitioned into the next news story. Steve grabbed the remote and turned it off while everyone in the room slowly turned from the screen and towards each other, faces slack with disbelief and awe.

"Tony, your dad is awesome," Bucky said.

Tony reconsidered every negative thought he'd ever had about the man who raised him. At a time when it mattered most, Howard Stark discovered selflessness. "Yeah…I guess he is."


	23. Mystery Visitors

"With everything that's been going on, I completely forgot to ask about Clint's scan results," Tony told Steve that evening after the news report.

"So you're asking me?"

"Yeah. You always know what's happening."

"I do?" Steve didn't sound convinced.

"Well, you always know more than I do. They trust you," Tony stated.

"And they don't trust you?"

"Not as much. I'm still less familiar than you are."

"That doesn't mean nobody trusts you."

"I didn't say that. I just said they trust you more. Do you know anything about Clint or not?"

"No. I honestly don't. I know he and his parents had an appointment with Dr. Potts about the results the day after the Code Silver, but I have no idea what they talked about."

"Does he usually tell you the verdict when he gets scan results?"

"I'm not sure I can say that with confidence. We've both been coming to Gravesen for a long time, but that doesn't mean we're always admitted at the same time."

"Has he been acting in a way that indicates…something bad?" Tony asked. "You know his baseline better than I do."

"No. My best guess would be he's on track with where they want him to be on this treatment and they're continuing as planned. But my best guess being correct isn't a given."

"Of course not, but it's all I have at the moment."

"Why don't you ask Clint?" Steve questioned.

"Do you think he'd answer?"

"If you asked? Yeah, of course. There's no reason he'd ignore you or lie if you just asked him how he'd doing. That's a perfectly reasonable thing to do."

"I guess so…it just seems really personal."

"We live in a hospital at the moment, Tony. Nothing is really personal."

"Yeah, but when we're together it seems like talking about our illnesses in any way that's not joking is kind of taboo."

"We just try our best to make sure that's not _all_ we talk about," Steve corrected.

"Okay. I'll ask him tomorrow."

"Good idea. And if you speak to your dad again, tell him I said thank you for what he did. I've never seen Bucky so enraged. But I've also never seen him as excited as he was when Zola said your dad helped fund them."

"I will. It was killing me knowing so many people like them would suffer and not being able to do anything about it."

"Yeah, me too. Thankfully your dad _was_ able to do something about it. I see where you get it from."

"Get what?"

"Your protective streak."

"Huh?" Tony didn't think he possessed anything of the sort.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Everyone has seen the way you are with Parker."

"What way?"

"Let's just say that it's no surprise he latched onto you after that panic attack."

"He latched onto Happy first," Tony clarified.

"Happy's an adult. But when Happy forced him off, he went straight for you."

Tony couldn't deny that's what had happened. But he didn't think it was necessarily evidence of a protective streak. Steve was the one who extended himself to make everyone feel welcome and safe. But it was just possible that he wasn't the only one capable of doing so.

~0~

The next morning, the energy in the ward was tangibly different. The air of anticipation weighed down on Tony like a heavy fog, but exactly what they awaited he had no idea. He caught nurses and doctors whispering to each other far more than usual, but he couldn't decipher what they said. Naturally, Natasha knew more, and she asked if anyone else knew what was up.

"We are to have visitors today," she announced.

"How do you know that?" Steve asked.

"I learned it," she explained vaguely. Tony figured that meant her eavesdropping skills surpassed his own.

"Do you have any idea who?" Bucky questioned.

"Somebody important."

"Well that narrows it down," Tony sighed. This whole notion of mystery visitors distracted him from asking Clint about his scan results. He was not about to let that fall to the back burner.

"Do you know why?" Steve asked. "Is it related to what happened yesterday? Or the Code Silver somehow?"

"I do not know," she answered.

"Any idea _when_ we can be expecting these visitors?" Tony asked.

"What, you need time to put on your makeup?" Bucky teased.

"I'll hit you," Tony warned.

"No you won't."

"Whatever. Anyone know where Clint is?"

"His room," Natasha replied. Tony nodded and set off to pay him a visit. He knocked gently on the door and Clint invited him in.

"Hey Tony," he greeted.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"I, ummm…I just wanted to ask how your scans went. I know you were really nervous and I just wanted to make sure you were okay now." The words barely tumbled out of his mouth, but Tony thought he got his point across.

"Oh," Clint said with a slight smile. "They were good actually. Right on track with what Dr. Potts wanted."

A breath he didn't know he was even holding in rushed out of his chest in one fell swoop. "That's great."

"Yeah it is. What's going on with everyone else? I know you're not the first one up."

"Apparently Nat overheard that we're going to have visitors," Tony said.

"Really? Who?"

"No idea. Want to come with us to find out?"

"Sure."

They headed back and rejoined the other assembled residents. "Any updates?" Tony asked.

"Nope," Steve replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Heimdall pick up the phone. Tony got the sense that whatever was happening today was about to happen very soon. However, what he didn't expect was to be specifically invited to the occasion.

"Kids, gather your friends and come with me," Heimdall instructed. Natasha and Clint set off for Nick's room, Steve for Thor's, and Bucky for Quill's. Tony went first to Parker. The kid instantly brightened up at the prospect of a mystery visitor and an invitation to go somewhere with Heimdall. Next, he knocked on Bruce's door and explained the situation again.

"Heimdall asked you to get everyone to follow him?" Bruce asked to clarify.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed. "Don't ask for any more details because I don't know. I'm assuming we're going to find out soon enough."

Heimdall led them out of the ward, which in itself was exciting. They went all the way to the top floor and stood outside a large bay window in a hallway that looked down on the landing pad of another, shorter section of the hospital. "Are we expecting a helicopter?" Bucky inquired.

"Something like that," Heimdall said mystically. Many other figures Tony didn't recognize, some adult patients staying at Gravesen, others staff he hadn't interacted with, gathered around this window and several others. What on Earth was approaching this landing pad that piqued the interest of so many people? He was Howard Stark's son, he'd seen plenty of helicopters before. It would take more than that to genuinely excite him.

"Any idea what's going on?" Tony whispered to Steve.

"None whatsoever."

"Good. At least I'm not the only one." After a few minutes of nothing happening, they loosened their crowding around the window and some of them turned away. Clint and Natasha kept their eyes glued to the landing pad, waiting for whatever it was.

"I'm so confused," Thor admitted.

"Me too," Quill said. "Why are so many people here? Isn't this a fire hazard? Or a germ hazard?"

"Probably," Bucky scoffed. He was nearly cut off by the first exhilarated gasp from one of the window watchers.

"What is that?!" Clint asked in disbelief. All the kids immediately rushed back to the window to see what all the fuss was about. Tony's jaw nearly fell open when he saw an actual real-life hovercraft descending towards the landing pad that he knew up to this point had only seen ordinary helicopters.

"I've never seen anything like it," Steve said. The machine lowered itself almost silently, without the roar of a massive engine or whirr of rotor blades. Tony was afraid to blink because he thought it might reveal this was all in his imagination.

"Holy shit," Parker stated.

"Holy shit is right," Bucky said.

"What's the matter with you kids? You never seen a spaceship before?" Tony didn't tear his eyes away from the spectacle before him, but he recognized the voice as that of Gravesen's president Dr. Lee.

"No I haven't," Parker admitted, though it appeared Dr. Lee had already moved on.

"What the fuck is a spaceship doing here?" Nick questioned.

"I would venture to guess it's carrying these mystery visitors," Tony suggested.

~0~

The Gravesen residents didn't get to meet the occupants of the spaceship immediately, of course. Whatever they were here for involved the higher-ups at the hospital, not some random patients. Tony couldn't even see the visitors deplane and enter the building; the spaceship itself blocked his view. He spent a minute or two scrutinizing the craft and he could not discern any identifying information, no national flag painted on the side or anything.

"Well, either we keep asking around or we accept that we're never going to know _who_ flew here in a freaking futuristic spaceship or even _what_ they're doing here," Bucky said.

"Or we could spy," Nick said flippantly.

"On who?" Steve questioned.

"Dr. Lee," Natasha suggested. "Or Dr. Potts or Dr. Rhodes. Any doctor here with international fame."

"Which one of us is going to go?" Bucky asked.

"I'm in," Nick stated.

"Me too," Nat added.

"I think we have to cap it at two people; any more and it's hardly a spy mission. More like a vengeful hoard of information seekers," Tony explained.

"Just because they said it first doesn't mean they should get to do it," Parker complained.

"Yeah, we should choose based on skills," Bucky said. "And Nat clearly has more of those in this department than any of us."

"What?" Nick sounded offended that he wasn't awarded that title.

"Um, guys," Clint's uncharacteristically quiet statement was completely drowned in the escalating argument.

"Natasha _is_ the best at figuring things out by listening to people," Thor admitted.

"I can be just as sneaky as she can."

"You've got to stick your head out farther to peek around corners," Quill pointed out.

"That's not exactly my fault!"

"Guys!" Clint repeated, more urgently this time. "We don't need to fight over who's sneakier because we don't even need to spy to gather intel."

"Why not?" Quill asked.

"We can just ask her." Clint pointed out a young girl that had wandered in unnoticed and was watching their conversation with fascination.

"Who's the new girl?" Tony asked suspiciously. She was dressed in a style unfamiliar to him, but the mere fact that she snuck in here without any of them—except apparently hawkeyed Clint—noticing her arrival suggested remarkable stealth skills. Or possibly just their lack of attention to their surroundings.

"Are you finished?" she asked with a hint of an accent Tony vaguely recognized.

"I think so, why?" Steve asked. Tony noticed how he automatically stepped forward so he stood at the forefront of their little group, between everyone else and the stranger.

"While your argument was rather interesting, I didn't sneak away from my brother to play with kids that are just going to fight all the time," she explained.

"Wait, you snuck away from your brother?" Steve questioned. Tony understood his obvious concern—this girl couldn't be older than Clint, and certainly shouldn't be wandering around a hospital by herself.

"Oh don't look so scared. He knows I can take care of myself. This isn't the first hospital business trip I've tagged along on, and they're usually pretty boring. My brother will be too busy to even notice I'm gone. That's why I came here; I always find the pediatric ward. You guys are almost always the only ones who don't spend all their time moping."

"Excuse me?" Tony was still mystified at who this person was and how she arrived here. They certainly did their fair share of moping, but he had no way of knowing how things were on the adult wards.

"Who's your brother?" Bucky asked. "And what exactly are you doing here?"

"He's here to talk shop about preventing another situation like the Vibranin crisis," she explained.

"That only answers like, half my question. You can't just show up here in a spaceship and _not_ explain where you came from."

"I'm Shuri. My brother is the king of Wakanda."


	24. The Princess and the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief note: in this story, Wakanda is basically this alternate universe's version of what Wakanda was like before the events of Black Panther, so they haven't fully opened up to the world yet. Also, this chapter and the one after it are just pure, fluffy nonsense...featuring some special guest stars :)

"Where's Wakanda?" Thor asked.

"Central Africa," Shuri replied.

"And your brother…is the _king_?" Clint questioned in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Does that make you a princess?" Quill asked.

"Technically yes, but I think that's a stupid title.

"So the king of an entire country is here to address the Vibranin crisis?" Bucky sounded like Christmas had come early and like he'd just stumbled upon a massive pile of diamonds all at once.

"Yes. Wakandan medicine is not privately funded, so we don't have these kinds of issues, but my brother feels obligated to share our resources to prevent anyone going without what they need."

"And you can just do that? I'm not very familiar with what Wakanda has resource-wise," Tony stated.

"Well, for most of history we haven't been very involved globally. I learned that in school—pretty boring as far as things to learn in school go—but it's true. My brother is always willing to revert from isolationism when it comes to aiding other nations with healthcare. That's why I've been along on so many hospital business trips; they're about the only kind of business trip he ever takes."

"Why is he only willing to act when it comes to healthcare? I would think that a country with access to aircraft like you've got is knowledgeable in many more fields," Tony said.

"My father and uncle both died of cancer," she informed them. "And my brother ascended the throne shortly afterwards."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Steve offered immediately.

"Thank you."

"We know more than anyone how much that sucks," Quill stated, idly scratching the back of his head.

"Yes. And that's exactly why my brother goes out of his way to prevent it from happening to others. You should have seen his face when he heard about Shield, I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel," Shuri said with wide, excited eyes. "Vibranin was originally developed by Wakandan scientists fifty years ago, and we shared it with the world in the hopes they'd handle it responsibly. Clearly, they need a little help in that department."

"Well we're glad to have his help," Bucky said. He stepped forward and slung an arm around Tony's shoulders, "Although this guy here managed to convince his mega-rich father to donate to Hydra to help them up their production and pick up the slack." Tony blushed, undeserving of the amount of credit Bucky just gave him. He'd just made a phone call; Howard was the only one who did anything of actual importance.

"Wait, you're Howard Stark's son?"

"Uh…yeah," Tony admitted.

"Wow! That's so cool."

The princess of a nation, the daughter and sister to _kings_ , just told him that his parentage was cool. Now Tony had really seen everything. Would he still trade his rich and famous father for an ordinary one whose emotions and motives weren't an abominable mystery, who actually gave him the time of day once in a while? Probably. But it was nice to hear at least someone considered his position enviable.

"What's he like?"

"Umm, he's…very good at what he does," Tony said vaguely. The rest of the world saw Howard Stark in a very different light than he did, as his son. He couldn't tell this little girl that a man she obviously respected cared more about his company than his own kid. That he's good at what he does was the highest praise Tony could offer without lying.

"Something I hope he has in common with your brother," Bucky said to Shuri. "I wonder if anyone else affected by this knows that the literal _king of Wakanda_ came to the country to help. The cancer community would go nuts to hear this. The online petition still doesn't even have half the signatures it needs to get onto the president's desk. Not that he would really do anything even if it did."

"Ah, democracy," Shuri sighed.

"I think that's enough of that subject," Steve interjected.

"I agree," Clint chimed in. "We should do something fun."

"Like what?"

"We should teach Shuri Catan," Parker suggested.

"That's a great idea."

"What's that?" Shuri asked.

"Only the most complicated and competitive board game in our closet. Also it's just about the only one we ever play," Tony remarked.

"That's not true," Bucky reminded him. "Remember that one time we played Risk?"

"Yes, and Steve took over all of Europe in a scarily short time and wiped us off the map," Tony countered.

"But I held onto Japan," Clint added.

"Yes you did." Natasha gave him a reassuring pat on the back. Japan had in fact been the only territory he held onto for most of the game.

"Have you considered combining the two?" Shuri asked. "I find it much more entertaining to integrate the rules of multiple games. One set of rules can get boring."

"That sounds like it will take forever to figure out. I'm in," Bucky said.

"Can we play in teams so more people can participate?" Quill asked.

"Sure. They don't even have to be even, so everyone can play. We need four groups," Steve said. "Two pairs and two groups of three."

They broke off into their teams: Clint and Natasha, of course, Thor with Quill and Nick, Shuri with Bucky, and Tony with Steve and Parker. "Dibs on red," Parker called immediately. They spent a solid forty minutes setting up the boards for both games and writing up a list of rules for how to play the two together. It was the first time Tony had to exercise actual brain power since arriving here, with the lone exception of that poetry assignment for school. In the end, they created a conglomerate of a game involving feeding the troops with wheat cards, raiding settlements, and building roads between territories. If they didn't have their list of combined rules with them, nobody would have any idea how to play, and they had to constantly consult it to remember what to do. It was difficult, but also immensely entertaining, at least for Tony.

He was very pleased with his team's potential. They already knew Steve could dominate at Risk, and both Parker and Tony were decent Catan players. They quickly developed an empire in North America and started encroaching on Clint and Natasha to the south while simultaneously creating a resource factory by building a settlement on a two-for-one rock port after placing their first on high-scoring rock hexes. Towards the beginning Tony thought they had a chance at winning, but then Shuri broke out of the gates at breakneck speed. He didn't know how much of their strategy had been devised by Shuri versus Bucky, but whoever came up with it, it was damn effective.

~0~

It was down to the wire now. Thor, Quill, and Nick had been wiped off the map "faster than my white blood cells after chemo," or so Nick put it. Clint and Natasha held on for a while, but a lucky roll on Bucky's part sealed their fate by defeating their last remaining troops. Now it was an all-out fight to the death between Tony, Steve, and Parker's red versus Shuri and Bucky's blue.

"I don't know if we're gonna make it fellas," Tony admitted. He was noticeably sweating with the intensity of the game. Shuri, on the other hand, looked like she'd spent all eight or however many years of her life plotting world domination, and this game was merely the successful execution of that plot.

"Are you afraid?" she asked tauntingly.

"A little bit, not gonna lie," Parker said.

"When it's just me playing you're not scared," Bucky said.

"You're not particularly threatening," Steve told him.

"What? I can be plenty threatening?"

"Nah, Steve's right. You're a softie," Tony said.

"Says the kid with stuffed animals," Bucky spat.

"You have a collage of hand turkeys in your room," Tony countered.

"Which you all made for me! How is keeping valuable memories with friends being a softie?"

"I hate to break it to you—who am I kidding, I really don't hate it—but that's the definition of softie," Quill told him.

"Fine. I accept this new piece of my identity. I am a one-armed softie. Happy now?"

"No. I'm still losing," Tony retorted.

"I don't think what you're doing can even be called that," Shuri sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"Losing implies that you're at least trying to win. I see no evidence of such an attempt."

"Okay, wow. She really went there," Tony said. "Fine. I surrender."

"Tony, we can't surrender!" Steve countered. "We still have Greenland!"

"What good does that do us? There is literally nothing important about Greenland."

"It's a link between North America and Europe," Parker pointed out.

"No, it's a misnamed chunk of ice floating in the ocean that most people assume is just part of Canada."

"Wait, it's not part of Canada?" Quill inquired.

"No. It's a Danish territory," Steve informed him.

"My whole life is a lie."

"The Danes are an interesting bunch," Thor remarked.

"They invented Legos," Parker mentioned.

"That's it, we've mentioned everything noteworthy about Greenland in less than two minutes," Tony said. "That says a little something about how valuable it is."

"I didn't realize you harbored such a hatred for Greenland," Bucky stated.

"I don't hate Greenland. It's just not going to save us from the shit show that is this game."

"I was going to win on the next turn anyway," Shuri said. "Good game. I can never find anyone at home to play with me."

"I wonder why," Quill scoffed.

"Quill, you always lose games and yet you still play," Thor said.

"I do not _always_ lose."

"Yes you do," Tony quipped.

"That's just because nobody ever wants to play the games I want to."

"Alright then, what do you want to do?" Steve asked calmly.

"Dance off, bro!"

"Absolutely not," Bucky immediately shut it down. "We don't need to burn Shuri's eyes out of her head with our dancing. I saw enough of that at my farewell to arms party."

"I second that," Steve contributed. Quill only crossed his arms and huffed. And then Thor seized, which took up several minutes of their time between protecting him and explaining to Shuri what happened. They left him on the sofa to sleep it off, per his request, and moved on.

"Can we meet your brother?" Parker asked eagerly.

"Yeah, can we meet him?" Clint repeated.

"Probably not for long."

"Why not?"

"He'll want to be on to the next hospital we're visiting as quickly as possible."

"I am not letting the king of Wakanda walk in and out of my hospital without me at least laying eyes on him," Bucky practically growled.

"Why do you want to meet him anyway? He's lame."

"You're just saying that because he's your brother," Tony said. "People are way less cool when they're family." That concept had just been proven to him by Shuri's fascination with his father.

"My brother's not lame," Thor added shyly.

"No, but he's a psychopath," Quill stated.

"No he's not!"

"All the stories you tell certainly make him sound like one," Tony said.

"Anyway, Shuri, take us to your brother or we will conspire to deny you creamed us in that game."

"Is that supposed to be sufficient motivation?" she questioned.

"Yes," Steve stated.

"Very well." She looked at her watch, a sleek device which looked like it served many more purposes beyond telling time. "I'm sure we can catch him for a bit before he summons me to leave." They followed Shuri back towards where she disembarked from the spaceship.

"Did you really fly here in that thing?" Clint asked.

"Yes."

"That's so cool!"

"It needs work. I've already thought of several improvements for the structure of Wakandan aircraft, but my brother says I must be older before he appoints me as head of technology and design."

"How much older?" Tony asked warily.

"He said I have to be fourteen or fifteen."

"My dad won't let me help with the company until I'm a legal adult," Tony told her.

"My brother knows that to wait that long would be a horrible waste of resources."

They rounded a corner and Tony saw with Dr. Potts a figure he recognized from the news broadcast. The king of Wakanda was another one of the people they had interviewed about the Vibranin crisis. Tony was used to interacting with rich big-wigs from events he'd attended with his father, but he'd never seen royalty before. The most striking thing about him was just how young he was. He couldn't be more than two or three years older than Tony, which in his opinion was far too young to be the ruler of a nation. It also meant he'd lost his father far too soon. Tony's awe for the king of Wakanda mixed with just a little bit of pity. The rest of the group looked just as dumbfounded as he felt at the sight of the young king, with the obvious exception of Shuri.

"T'Challa!" she called. "My friends wanted to meet you before you left." She gestured to the flock of kids behind her, standing there like petrified sheep. The king broke off his conversation with Rescue and walked over to greet his sister.

"Did you have fun?" he asked her knowingly.

"Yes. We invented a new game," she told him.

"She won," Tony said pointedly, though King T'Challa looked like he already knew that.

"You're Anthony Stark, are you not?" he asked. Tony felt his face flush red when the king looked directly at him and used his full name. Nobody used his full name except his parents when they were mad at him.

"Yes."

"Tell your father I thank him for what he did. It made my job a lot easier."

"O-Okay," Tony stammered.

"And thank you for helping us during this crisis," Bucky said. "A world with a shortage of Vibranin is not a world I particularly want to live in."

"Me neither," T'Challa said. "Fortunately, Wakanda produces Vibranin for use among our own patient population and we have more than enough to help take the strain off of Hydra until production levels are secure. Thank you for entertaining my sister, all of you. She tends to cause trouble when dragged into meetings. I hope she didn't gloat over her victory too much."

"I don't gloat," Shuri cut in.

"Not too much, Your Highness," Steve said. "Though she did win handedly."

"I'm sure you held your own." He glanced down at his watch, a model identical to Shuri's. "I'm afraid we must be going now, many more conversations and exchanges required to sort this whole thing out."

"Thank you for everything," Bucky said again, his words echoed by all of them.

"Bye guys!" Shuri called. The Gravesen residents watched eagerly through the window as they boarded the spaceship and it took off almost silently, disappearing into the sky. As Tony watched it go, he thought about how King T'Challa chose to utilize the power and resources of the country he led. From what Shuri said, it sounded like they stayed out of most international affairs unless it had to do with healthcare. Wakanda certainly had the tech to be a formidable force in warfare. Tony commended their leaders for not using their might for destructive purposes. His own father, on the other hand, led a tech empire comparable in strength to an entire nation, and he used all of it to make weapons. From the first time he was told he would eventually take over Stark Industries, Tony had doubts about what he would do in a position of leadership. After watching the king of Wakanda honor his father and uncle's memory by helping those who suffered as they did, Tony finally had at least a vague idea of what he wanted to with his inheritance—if he lived long enough to receive it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a short appearance, but as I've mentioned to some of you, it was genuinely impossible to give every major character equal 'screen time' without sacrificing the plot for the sake of throwing in every character. I'd rather have a coherent story with some fan-favorites only dropping in briefly than have a mess of a story that has every character there all the time.
> 
> Also, I apologize if anybody's from Greenland. I have nothing against it, and to be completely honest every single jab at it was just inspired by that one episode of Phineas and Ferb where Perry the Platypus teams up with a Canadian agent to defeat a Canadian villain who turns out to be from Greenland and is super bitter about it because Canada gets all the glory.


	25. Rise of the Asgardians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves for bonus character cameo chapter #2

"My family's coming to visit," Thor announced proudly. Tony didn't know how long it had been since Thor had seen them in person, but it was at least as long as Tony had been here. Which, he rather thought, was far too long to go without seeing one's family. Thor was understandably excited; he'd been talking about a potential visit almost as long as Tony had been here.

Tony maintained some reservations. All he'd heard about Thor's family up until this point was that his sister Hela mostly did her own thing and his little brother Loki was notorious for pranking and trickery. Thor clearly loved them to pieces anyway from the way he talked about them, but Tony feared what they might get up to in a hospital.

"What are you going to do with them?" Steve asked Thor of the impending visit.

"They want to do some touristy New York City stuff. I'm gonna join them for that, and ideally I'll make it a few hours without seizing. It's always more difficult in public," Thor explained. "And, of course, I want to introduce them to all of you."

"Sounds good," Bucky remarked. "I'm dying to meet this adopted elf brother of yours."

"He's not an elf!"

"Everything you say about him makes him sound like one."

"He's a person," Thor insisted.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

~0~

"I brought some guests," Thor said knowingly as he waltzed into the common room where most of the residents were gathered. He gestured to the open door behind him and the rest of the Odinsons waltzed through. Tony's eyes first drifted to Hela. She was only a year or two older than him, with pitch black hair that matched her choice of outfit. Thor's father was rather tall with a thick beard and an eyepatch not dissimilar to Nick's. His mother had a warm smile that reminded Tony of his own mother's and cascading brown hair. Little Loki had an impish glint in his eyes and gleaming black hair. Tony noticed the resemblance between Loki and Hela, and its stark contrast to Thor's blond hair. Yet Loki was supposedly the adopted one…strange.

"Thor, you didn't tell me your dad and I were patch pals," Nick said with a huff.

"It slipped my mind," Thor said sheepishly. Tony could tell immediately that he hated the subject of his father's missing eye. But why? Thor was generally an open book, so him not wanting to talk about this struck Tony as uncharacteristic.

"Yeah right. Trust me, a missing eye isn't something you just forget about," Nick countered.

"My son still carries some guilt over the cause of my impairment," Thor's father explained.

"I'd rather you not speak of it," Thor said out of the side of his mouth. Evidently, his father either didn't hear him or didn't care, because he plowed forward.

"Before Thor was diagnosed, his seizures were completely out of control and we had no idea what we were doing."

"Far, stop it," Thor hissed, but Odin paid him no heed.

"On one unfortunate occasion I got too close and he nailed me right in the eye with a fingernail."

The assembled Gravesen residents fell completely silent in disbelief. Of all the ways to lose an eye, Tony never would have suspected. He'd seen Thor seize before, and he could barely even visualize how he could manage to injure someone that badly.

"I told you not to tell them. Look at what you did, they're mortified," Thor said sadly.

"Maybe they're just afraid of you, brother," Loki piped up.

"I wouldn't say afraid," Bucky said. "More like impressed."

"The only impressive part was Far's swearing," Hela quipped.

"Oh shut up," Thor said.

"Thor, be nice," his mother admonished.

"Honestly, that's a sentence I never thought I'd hear," Bucky said. "Thor's the nice one."

"I'm not that surprised to hear it," Quill muttered. Loki stepped away from the family huddle in the doorway and strode around the common room, eyeing everything and everyone in the room with an almost morbid fascination. Tony struggled not to squirm under the scrutiny. Thor's little brother didn't remind him of an elf like Bucky had said so much as he reminded him of a snake. And the kid couldn't be more than ten years old. Hela, on the other hand, radiated a quiet indifference, as if they were all beneath her. In all honesty, they probably were.

"Well, there's no use in us just standing here. Come in," Thor said, guiding his parents and sister inside to sit down. Loki remained lurking to the side of the armchair Quill always occupied. Thor's parents took the spots that Tony and Parker usually sat in, so they relocated to another sofa.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?" Frigga asked kindly.

"God I hope not," Hela muttered. Odin nudged her shoulder as if to say, "Be polite."

"Sure." Thor went around the room and presented names, each person giving a shy wave. They weren't accustomed to meeting new people in this environment beyond those who lived and worked here.

"How was your flight?" Steve asked them politely.

"Long and arduous," Hela grumbled.

"It was fine, thank you," Frigga followed up.

"I'm afraid we're still rather jet-lagged, but since we're only here for a little bit I don't think adjusting to New York time is in our best interest," Odin explained.

"Seems reasonable," Steve said.

"Don't let us keep you from spending time in the city," Tony said. "There's not much in the way of entertainment in a hospital."

"Nonsense. Part of the reason we came was to meet the friends Thor's been telling us so much about," Frigga told them.

"You talk about us?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, of course. What else would I talk about?"

"Do you talk shit about us?" Quill questioned, only half-joking.

"What? No, of course not. All good things, all good things," he assured.

"Liar," Loki snapped. Thor waved his hand across his neck to cut Loki off, but the kid resolutely ignored him. "He complains about your music all the time."

"What about my music?" Quill asked, turning to Thor with rage in his eyes.

"Nothing. I love the songs you play."

"No you don't," Loki corrected. Quill narrowed his eyes even further.

"They're just a bit…outdated," Thor admitted.

"Whoa, whoa whoa, there's a difference between _classic_ and _outdated_. Not to mention most of the songs I listen to are from a mix that my _mother_ made for me."

"Okay." Thor raised his hands in mock surrender. The mention of Quill's mother immediately shut down the conflict. From his position beside Quill, Loki failed to mask a snicker at the argument he'd incited.

"Loki, come over here," Odin instructed, patting the empty spot on the couch between him and his wife. The kid trudged over and plopped himself down looking bored.

"I know you said there's not much in the way of entertainment here, but what do you all do for fun?" Thor's mother asked. "I'm sure it can't be all doom and gloom."

"It's not," Bucky assured her.

"We find ways to liven things up," Steve explained.

"Steve here is one of the greatest party planners I've ever met," Thor said proudly. Steve blushed. "He and Natasha set up this wonderful celebration to say a last goodbye to Bucky's arm. It was great fun."

"Yeah, it was great," Parker added.

"Until the president of the hospital showed up to out Natasha as a shoe thief," Tony finished.

"I think that actually made it more fun," Clint said.

"Certainly sounds like it," Loki quipped.

"Sometimes we have movie nights," Thor continued. "Although most of us have terrible track records for falling asleep and missing the best parts."

"You're one to talk," Hela snapped. "You once seized straight through the big reveal in the Sixth Sense. I couldn't hear what the stupid kid was saying over your gurgling."

"Hela!" their mother scolded.

"What? It's true."

"Well it's not exactly my fault," Thor defended. Tony failed to understand how Thor spoke of his siblings with such fondness when it seemed all they ever did was demean him. If this was what having siblings was really like, then Tony was glad he was an only child.

"How about you show them around the place, Thor?" Steve suggested.

"Assure them this isn't a disguised insane asylum," Bucky added.

"That sounds like a great idea," Frigga said. They stood and waited for Thor to show them out. The kids watched them leave with a mix of lingering amusement and relief.

"Thor said Loki was adopted, right?" Tony asked. Everyone nodded. "Yeah, I don't believe that for a second."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked.

"If any one of those kids is adopted it's Thor," Tony explained.

"Honestly I can't argue with that," Steve said.

"Evidently he's the only one of the three who's not a greasy grump," Bucky added.

"A greasy grump?" Quill repeated. "That's the best you can do?"

"Well how would you describe them?"

"Not like that."

"That's enough," Steve cut them off before a fully-fledged argument could erupt. "Regardless of who's adopted and who's not, they're all Thor's family."

"And his parents barely seem to care that his siblings bully him," Parker pointed out.

"It's not our job to judge their parenting," Tony said.

"I just don't know how anyone can put up with that kind of abuse from his their own family," Quill sighed. "If anyone doesn't deserve to be made fun of, it's Thor."

"You make fun of him all the time," Parker reminded him.

"That's because he does it back. If it's mutual, it's friendship. If it's one-sided, then it's bullying."

"He doesn't seem to mind," Bucky said.

"He should," Steve stated. Bucky elbowed him, and they exchanged a look that clearly alluded to something only they understood. Steve rolled his eyes and broke off the stare.

"I don't trust that brother of his as far as I could throw him," Tony grumbled. He couldn't wipe the image of Loki's impish smile out of his head. Thor's parents ought to have him on a leash. And he wouldn't put it past Hela to murder any one of them if it fancied her. Among all of that sibling influence, it was a miracle Thor was as nice and normal as he was. Maybe he tried extra hard to make up the difference.

"It's quite the establishment you've got here," Odin remarked as he and the family returned from their brief tour of the ward.

"We can't exactly take credit for it, but thank you," Steve said sheepishly.

"Ummm, where's the little one?" Tony questioned. Loki was nowhere in sight.

"Good question," Thor said. Just as he turned around, presumably to retrace their steps and find him, Loki appeared in the doorway and stepped inside.

"Where were you?" Thor asked.

"When?"

"Just now."

"Right here."

"No, before that."

"Following you guys around the hospital."

"But you didn't immediately follow us back here."

"Yes I did.

"Du sniker deg rundt?" Thor asked, switching suddenly into a language Tony figured was probably Norwegian.

"Nei!" Loki insisted.

"Du lovet at du ikke ville skape trøbbel."

"Thor, han lovet at han ville være på sitt beste," Odin said assuringly.

"Loki holder aldri et løfte," Thor countered.

"Ja, det gjør jeg," Loki said coolly.

"Nei gjør du ikke," Hela sighed dramatically. Tony failed miserably to follow any snippets of this conversation, but he did recognize Thor's frustration towards his little brother. He was rather suspicious of the fact they'd held this conversation in Norwegian when they'd all already proven they spoke English perfectly well. What were they trying to hide from the rest of them? And he definitively did _not_ appreciate the mischievous glint in Loki's eye. He did, however, recognize the look in Thor's eye, the one that usually indicated he felt a seizure coming on.

To everyone's surprise, Loki jumped into action before anyone else. He caught his brother before he could collapse to the floor, eased him down, and snatched a pillow off the nearest sofa to place under his convulsing brother's head with practiced ease. Though he knew they were his family and must've witnessed this hundreds of time, Tony couldn't help but be surprised at watching someone he hadn't seen do it before handle Thor with such tranquility. Loki's demeanor had instantly switched from prickly and defensive to protective.

"It's alright, brother," he soothed. When Thor eventually stilled, Loki rolled him to his side and ran his fingers through his hair. "This is the one promise I've never broken."

~0~

Tony didn't get to spend much more time with the Odinsons, as they spent the next day sightseeing in New York City. Thor got a pass to leave the hospital and join them. They came back just before curfew and said goodbye to all of the residents they'd only just met, wishing them all speedy recoveries and the usual polite comments before heading out. Odin and Frigga gave Thor the biggest hugs Tony had ever witnessed. Upon their departure, Thor raved about how much fun they'd all had together and how disappointed he was that they had to return home the following morning. Tony didn't understand why they'd come all this way for such a short visit, but he couldn't pretend to know everything going on in their lives. He just accepted it as a fact. Just like he accepted the fact that Thor loved his siblings unconditionally.

Thor had said everyone in his family was named after Norse gods. Loki was infamously the god of mischief and trickery, and boy did that kid live up to his namesake, they soon learned. Some of the mischief he'd managed in his short stay here became evident immediately upon his departure, some other aspects took a little longer to reveal. They returned to their rooms at curfew, and Tony had barely stepped through his door when he heard a horrified gasp from Steve. He dashed next door to identify the cause and found all of Steve's beautiful drawings removed from their positions on the wall and stuck willy-nilly across the ceiling along with four additional pieces of paper, bearing the letters O, I, K, and L. It didn't take long for Tony and Steve to unscramble the letters to spell Loki.

"The kid's barely four feet tall, how did he even get those up there?" Tony asked.

"I have no idea," Steve sighed. "But I sure wish he was still here to tell us so we can get them down again."

"Hey, at least he didn't vandalize them."

"I probably would've murdered him if he did."

"Really? The honorable Steve Rogers would commit murder over a petty crime like vandalism?"

"Yes." He left it at that.

They discovered Loki's second 'project' when they went to play Catan the next day. The little bastard had taken every piece from every board game in the entire common room, mixed them all together, and put them back randomly in different boxes.

"When did he have time to do this?" Nick questioned. He, Tony, Natasha, and Thor sat meticulously sorting all the pieces back into their proper boxes. Fortunately, Monopoly and Operation and the Game of Life all used different currency, so they didn't have to worry about counting money to ensure one game didn't end up with too much or too little cash. Still, it was an agonizingly tedious process.

"I do not know," Natasha sighed.

"He's very sneaky," Thor reminded them.

"It's going to take us hours to sort this all back," Tony complained. "How can it take us hours to undo what he must've done in like thirty minutes?"

"I don't know. And I've been cleaning up Loki's messes since our parents adopted him," Thor said. Tony blew a frustrated raspberry but got back to work differentiating Monopoly houses from Catan settlements.

Loki had spent less than twenty four hours within the walls of Gravesen, yet he'd still managed to wreak this much havoc. But the true scope of his troublemaking wouldn't become evident until later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love this chaotic neutral baby Loki. I do believe they're the same age in the movies (In Thor's story in Ragnarok about the snake transformation, he says, "We were eight at the time."), but the dynamic I had in mind worked better if Loki was a few years younger than Thor. For anyone who might be disappointed that the Odinsons left after only one chapter, I ask that you please be patient, because they will all be returning full force in Thor's prequel. There is much more baby Loki to come :)


	26. Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic dream sequence

Clint fell first. Thor's family left that morning, and he spiked a fever by eight o'clock that night. Fevers in people like Clint with suppressed immune systems constituted medical emergencies. The doctors immediately isolated him and took blood to find out what was causing it, or so Clint told them in the group chat. Tony thought his hands might be shaking from the prevalence of typos in his messages, although that could also be attributed to him not thinking straight through the fever and the fear.

This was Tony's first experience with a cancer kid spiking a fever and admittedly he was terrified. On the surface, he'd known that it was dangerous because it had been explained to him at some point, but actually experiencing it happen to one of his friends made it so much more real. As a kid, a fever for Tony had meant staying home from school and Mom's homemade soup, but for these kids a fever meant being whisked away from everyone, bloodwork, and terror. Even though Clint wasn't constantly around them on a normal day, his absence in the common room the next morning was palpable.

"I really hope he's going to be okay," Tony sighed. After the news reached him he hadn't slept much last night.

"He will be," Steve assured. He paused to cough for a few moments. "They have to be super cautious because of his immune system, but antibiotics should do the trick. I've seen this happen before."

"Fevers suck," Natasha admitted. "But they know how to fix them. And they caught it early. Should be fine."

Tony trusted their opinions on this matter, of course, but he couldn't help but worry. Nobody else, not even the nurses, seemed perturbed, so he felt rather alone in his fretting. He'd never been a worrywart before, but being hospitalized for a potentially fatal heart condition tended to make one more cautious in general.

He almost shouted when Thor tensed up and fell to the floor, despite having seen it happen at least a dozen times before and knowing it wasn't particularly harmful. His body moved to cushion Thor's head on autopilot, Steve right behind him. Steve started timing it while Tony slid the sofa backwards far enough that Thor wouldn't strike it. The phone clattered to the floor, stopwatch still running, as Steve threw an arm over his mouth to cover it, the other hand clutching his chest as he coughed. This wasn't unusual for him, but Tony noticed it seemed more forceful than normal. He thought maybe he was just paranoid from worrying about Clint, but then Steve _didn't stop_.

"You okay, man?" Tony asked, trying not to let fear creep into his voice. He watched Steve carefully and swore he saw him shake his head back and forth. It was impossible to tell with him doubled over and practically convulsing from the strength of the coughing.

"He does not look okay," Natasha stated.

Thor's seizure ceased just shy of four minutes, leaving Steve's coughing the only sound in the room. Just when Tony braced himself to stand up and go fetch help, Steve stopped. Tony sighed in relief, but it turned into a yelp when Steve picked his head up to look at him. Wet red splotches decorated the crook of his elbow.

"Um, Steve…is that what I think it is?" Tony asked.

Steve nodded tersely. He stood up and started for the door, only for another fit to strike and halt him in his tracks. Natasha darted out of the room and Tony walked over and put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Steve's back. He could feel every violent spasm of muscle trying to force whatever-it-was out of Steve's lungs. Steve coughed all the time, but _never_ like this. The first tendrils of panic grasped at Tony's mind, but he fought them off. Naturally, his body didn't agree with his decision not to panic and he barely managed to let go of Steve before his defibrillator fired. Natasha returned with Peggy just as Steve hacked up another quarter-sized puddle of blood.

"Come on," Peggy invited without wasting a second. She guided Steve back to his room to look after him, leaving Tony alone in the common room with Natasha. They stared at each other in stunned silence, wondering what could have caused this. Now Tony had two friends to worry about, and he didn't particularly enjoy that.

Parker staggered into the room seconds after Tony collapsed on the sofa in exhaustion. "What's going on?" Parker asked. "I just saw Peggy walking Steve down the hall and he was coughing pretty bad."

"He coughed up blood," Tony stated, still dumbfounded by what he'd seen.

"What? That's not good."

"No, it's not."

"Oh, man." Parker rubbed at his head with both hands.

Tony finally got a good look at him and noticed he was even paler than usual. That didn't bode well either. "How are you, Parker?" he asked cautiously, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Honestly? I don't feel so good," he admitted.

Tony's mind started to put pieces together that he wished would remain apart. "Go back to your room and call in a nurse, tell them exactly what's going on," he instructed.

"Tony, what is wrong?" Natasha asked.

"Something's not right," Tony said. "Three people getting sick in the span of a day?"

"This _is_ a hospital," Parker reminded him. "People get sick."

"I know, but I don't trust whatever's going on right now. Have Clint's labs come back yet, do they know what it is?"

"I do not know."

"Well, until we find out—" he was interrupted by Maria's arrival.

"I want you all in your rooms, now," she stated affirmatively.

"What's going on?" Parker questioned.

"We'll tell you when we know for sure. Now go."

They didn't waste any more time, scampering out and back to their rooms. Tony closed his door and finally released the half-sob, half-scream he'd been holding back since Parker admitted he wasn't feeling great. Phantom alarms blared in his head, making his ears ring and his temples throb. "We'll tell you when we know for sure." The phrase stuck in his mind. They didn't know what was going on, but clearly whatever it was frightened them. Anything that could frighten the Gravesen staff posed a massive threat. Even the Code Silver hadn't really tested the resilience of the doctors and nurses here; they'd handled it with practiced calm and ease. But this unknown threat, whatever it was, had them worried.

He checked the group chat to see if anyone had learned anything more, only to find nothing but his friends experiencing the same confusion and fear. Tony wrote, "The second you get any information from anyone let us know," and everyone agreed to share anything they found out. Tony took a deep breath to try and steady himself. He felt a little weak and shaky, though he couldn't tell if it was from a lack of sleep, stress, or somehow related to his ICD firing. Most likely it was some combination of all three. He lay there, half-listening for any new texts while simultaneously trying to drown out the outside world and calm down. He'd almost gotten it to work when Happy came in. Tony could tell from his face that he had news.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Clint's labs came back," Happy announced.

"And…?

"He has an infection caused by a bacteria called Streptococcus chitauri," he explained. "It usually presents similarly to strep throat or a cold, but with compromised systems like you all have it can turn into pneumonia or get into the bloodstream. It's also highly contagious. You and everyone else on the ward need to stay away from each other to prevent it from spreading."

"So I'm basically grounded?"

"To put it bluntly, yes."

"Is it…serious? I mean, is Clint gonna be okay?"

"It's not known to be resistant to antibiotics, and it usually runs its course pretty quickly with treatment, so he should be fine."

"Should be?"

"You know I can never make promises, Tony," Happy sighed. "For now he's stable. But I do have another reason for being here, which is screening you for symptoms. Are you feeling okay?"

"Besides being super stressed out?" Tony tried half-heartedly for humor and fell short. Happy procured a thermometer, took his temperature, and stared at the result. "What is it?" Tony asked.

"Just a tad high," Happy said. "Do you feel feverish?"

"Not really. I am pretty tired, but that's because I didn't sleep much."

"What about a sore throat? Achiness? Respiratory symptoms? Anything like that?"

"I certainly haven't been coughing like Steve. My ICD fired earlier when Steve was really going at it, but no chest pain or anything. I'm just exhausted, I think."

Happy pursed his lips unhappily. "We'll definitely keep an eye on everything. I'll see what the doctors on the case say. If anything changes, you know how to call me."

"Okay," Tony sighed as Happy tidied up and left. He checked the group chat again and found a very important message.

"I just learned something," Thor texted. "My parents just called to tell me Loki's sick. He started complaining of a sore throat on the flight home."

"I think we just found our Typhoid Mary," Nick wrote. Could the kid really be responsible for this, or was it just a coincidence? The puzzle pieces fit together too perfectly for it to be a coincidence. Loki's worst trickery of them all had been achieved without any conscious effort on his part. Tony wondered if he would celebrate if he knew that he'd gotten three, potentially four of them sick.

Make that six.

Within the next four hours, both Natasha and Bucky sent frantic texts to the group chat reporting they too had fevers. Steve and Parker both stated they'd tested positive for strep chitauri. Parker only had mild flu-like symptoms, but Tony could hear Steve's continued coughing from next door and he doubted the boy would be able to fight this off easily. He was already on antibiotics for whatever other infection lived in his lungs, how were they going to battle this new one? Tony only hoped it didn't spiral into pneumonia as Happy said it might; the last thing Steve needed was running the risk of requiring intubation again.

Tony himself felt noticeably worse than he had when Happy was here, and not just because so many of his friends suffered. His throat definitely hurt now, when a few hours ago he could have passed it off as a tickle. Reluctantly, he pressed the call button and told Happy the verdict. He took his temperature again and Tony knew without him having to say it that it had gone up.

"How high?" Tony asked.

"101.3," Happy read.

"Yikes."

"Yikes indeed."

~0~

How did Steve cope with this all the time? IV antibiotics were miserable. Compounded with his worsening symptoms, the side effects of the meds made him wish he could sleep this whole experience away. He lay practically paralyzed in a state of exhaustion and nausea severe enough to make him request a basin. The sensation sat constantly below the threshold of actually throwing up, but close enough that his stomach muscles seemed coiled in anticipation.

He couldn't even bring himself to be disappointed at being grounded. In his current state he doubted he could tolerate company anyway. He just wished the rest of them remained safe from this monstrous bacterial invasion. The nurses provided continuous updates on everyone whenever they came in to recheck his temperature or adjust the contents of his IV. So far Thor, Bruce, Quill, and Nick hadn't reported any symptoms. Hopefully, it remained that way.

Steve and Natasha apparently had it the worst, with his ruined lungs and her devastated immune system. They had him stabilized on whatever was a step below intubation to help his breathing, and Natasha's intestines were reacting badly to the infection. Clint and Bucky were miserable but seemingly in less immediate danger than Nat, and Parker was just exhausted and sore. All things considered, Tony considered himself among the lucky ones, although Rhodes paid him his first visit since the shooting to inform him they'd recheck all his heart function parameters after he cleared the infection to see if it had weakened. He fell asleep late that night after flip-flopping between freezing and overheating in a feverish haze for hours. What he didn't expect to become a part of his misery were the dreams.

_Tony found himself in a dark, cluttered room, a mountain of rubble before him. The very air tingled with fear, and despite his anticipation of something leaping out at him he startled anyway. A massive worm-like monster that reminded him of sketches of bacteria in his old biology textbook swooped over him. Tony ducked and covered his head with his arms, panting. The beast soared onwards and over the mountain. When Tony finally stood up, he was no longer alone in the room._

_The mountain was littered with the corpses of his friends._

_Bruce lay curled up on his side, as if his last moments were spent self-comforting or protecting himself from cold. Natasha sprawled on her back, eyes open but lifeless and yet somehow still staring accusingly at Tony. Beside her, Clint sat defeated, body leaned up against the rubble behind him. Tony had watched Thor seize countless times, but the figure on the mountain thrashed more violently than he'd ever seen. Dislodged rocks and scraps of metal cascaded down towards Tony, some soaked in Thor's blood. Instinct told Tony to run to him and protect him from hurting himself, but he couldn't move._

_After what felt like ages, Thor finally stopped, but he remained more_ still _than Tony had ever seen. He looked more closely and recognized the key difference: Thor's chest didn't gently rise and fall. This was one postictal nap he would never awaken from. Just above Thor's body sat Quill, hideously discolored with one hand at his throat from a failed attempt to get oxygen into his lungs. Bucky lay face down, his left side towards Tony. Instead of a clean, healing stump, there was a mangled bloody hole as if someone had taken a chainsaw to his shoulder blade. Nick slumped nearby, both of his eyes gouged out and dripping blood onto his cheeks like tears._

_Closer to Tony, at the bottom of the mountain, Parker lay unmoving with his too-thin limbs bent at disturbing angles. And at his feet lay Steve, beaten and bloodied. Tony crouched down beside him, finally able to move again, and reached forward. Steve's eyes snapped open and his hand wrapped itself around Tony's wrist with impossible strength and prevented him from escaping. Steve spoke, and the accompanying rasp and wheeze made Tony want to rip his own ears off. "You…could've…saved…us."_

_How? What could Tony have done to stop whoever committed these atrocities? He tried to wrestle his arm back from Steve, but the boy wasn't letting go. Tony tried to look away, but unless he turned his head all the way around his gaze fell on one or more of his dead friends. "Why didn't you do more?" Steve pleaded. All at once, his grip loosened and his eyes lost their clarity, staring blankly at the sky above._

_"I don't know!" Tony screamed as more monsters streamed through the sky above his head. "I don't know! I don't know!" he repeated the phrase over and over again until his throat felt like it might rip to shreds if he spoke another word. The temperature rose and the smell of blood and decay overwhelmed his senses. Tony sank to his knees in tears._

"—burning up!" _he heard from the sky. It sounded distorted._

"He can't—"

"—the ice!"

Tony awoke with a jolt and found himself surrounded by frantic people. He recognized the aftershock-y feeling of his ICD firing, though it was tamped down by the feeling of a thick layer of sweat coating his skin.

"Tony, are you with us?" he recognized the voice as Happy's. Tony blinked heavily and tried to wipe his memory of the horrific dream. He didn't think fast enough to acknowledge the nurse's question before he went ahead anyway. "Tony, your fever's getting dangerously high. We need to bring it down, okay?"

Tony mumbled something incoherent. He felt like he was about to expand so much that he burst out of his skin. His eyes flitted around like a rabid animal's as people maneuvered all over the place. He registered the striking difference in temperature as they placed cool packs around his neck, underarms, and inner thighs. Between the terror of the dream and the confusion of right now, tears forced their way to the forefront and ran trails through the sheen of sweat on his face.

"It's alright," Maria assured him. She swept away a tear with her thumb and Tony managed to focus his eyes enough to meet her gaze for a brief moment. "Everything's gonna be okay."

He wanted to scream, "It's not me I'm worried about!" All he could think about were the images of his battered friends stamped onto his retinas. Before he'd fallen asleep, Steve and Nat were the primary concerns, but with so many people here Tony must have climbed that list. Who was taking care of them? What if something happened while they were busy handling Tony? Then it would be entirely his fault, just like in the dream. That's what the dream was: a warning about the future. All of his friends were going to die because Tony stole all the attention.

He gathered his thoughts and forced his vocal cords to cooperate, "No! Save…them."

"Save who?" Happy asked.

"Everyone! Don'—don't let…them die." The words spilled out almost incoherently with his heaving breath.

"Tony, nobody's dying," Maria assured him.

"No?" He didn't believe her.

"Really. Tony, you need to relax, take some deep breaths." When Tony failed to comply, she had him match her rhythm. "Everything's going to be alright." She adjusted a pack on his neck and he felt the coolness seep into him.

"How—how are they?" he asked. "S-Steve…and Nat?"

"They're doing okay. They're fighting it off," Happy informed him.

"'N the others?"

"Getting better."

"Good. I w's worried," he slurred.

"I'm sure they're worried about you too, but everything's okay for now. Think you can go back to sleep for a bit?" Tony's vague nod turned into him nodding off and he slipped into a—thankfully dreamless—sleep.


	27. The Way Things Used To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of last chapter, this story officially has more hits than anything I've ever written! I have waited two long years for a story of mine to finally surpass this old Sherlock fic that I adopted from an orphaned story, and it finally happened! Thank you all so much for your appreciation of this story and I hope you'll stick around to enjoy everything I have planned for this universe.

Tony's fever finally broke three days later, the last among the Gravesen residents to do so. Fortunately, the doctors were on top of this outbreak quickly enough to treat it early and prevent it from spreading further. Steve had escaped intubation and was on the mend, along with everyone else who had gotten sick. Even the cancer kids by some miracle had avoided a dire systemic infection.

As promised, he was subjected to bloodwork—yay, more needles—and an echocardiogram to check the functioning of his heart after such a strain. Lying there with his bare chest covered in gel, Tony could tell by the look on the man's face that his results were unideal. Not long afterwards, Dr. Rhodes informed him of his decreased ejection fraction and the necessary adjustments to his medication. The change wasn't going to undo the further weakening of his heart, but hopefully help his body cope. In other words, he was that much closer to dying unless a donor heart became available, and he would suffer that much more on a daily basis in the meantime.

They were still grounded to avoid contagion, but at this point everyone was feeling well enough to be bored out of their minds. Tony picked up his phone, finding four missed calls from his mother. The contagion risk had prevented her from visiting, though she and his father had been informed of the situation when his fever spiked dangerously high. He'd called her as soon as he was coherent enough to do so, and only now did he remember that he promised to call again today. She must be growing impatient waiting for him to reach out, so he rang and waited for her to pick up. She answered on the third ring, just like his father always did.

"Tony?" She sounded relieved and worried all at once.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said.

"I was worried you got worse again! Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"I was sleeping." Tony rubbed at the back of his neck and yawned.

"Oh, of course you need to catch up on your rest. I'm sorry for bothering you."

"You didn't bother me," he said honestly. "I had my phone on vibrate and I slept through it."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been sick for five days. I'm exhausted, but better than I was before."

"That's good to hear. How is everyone else? I heard this sickness spread really easily. How many of you got sick?"

"Um, I think it was six of us?" Tony silently counted out on his fingers. "Yeah, six. Everybody is okay now. Actually, I was the last one to recover. Turns out everyone else can kick some bacteria's ass faster than I can."

His mother clucked at his choice of words but she didn't scold him, much to Tony's surprise. "I'm glad to hear that." She let out a long and drawn out sigh. "Hearing you were so sick but that we couldn't be with you was so troubling."

"I know. They weren't taking any chances with getting anyone else sick. Everyone who came in here was heavily gowned and masked, even more than those who deliver chemo."

"Yes. I talked to them today and they said I could come visit you as long as I wore protective equipment. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Tony said. He didn't want to let on just how much he wanted that. As a kid, his mother always took care of him when he was sick. His father didn't pay him any extra attention, and Tony always got the sense he just lamented the loss of a few days of Tony's education. In fact, this was the first time he'd had a fever without any form of comfort from his mother. He couldn't resist placing one simple request: "Could you bring some of the soup you always make?"

"Of course. I'll see you this evening, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm so glad you're doing better."

"Me too," Tony sighed. He hung up the phone and switched over to the Gravesen group chat. Evidently, his friends were bored. Not just an ordinary, nothing-to-do-bored, but crawling-up-the-walls bored. The chat was filled with a seemingly never-ending stream of memes. Tony didn't take the time to scroll through all of them, because new ones were currently being added.

Many he'd seen before—come on, he was a teenager and spent much of his alone time both before and after admittance to Gravesen on the Internet—including countless versions of Baby Yoda reacting to statements, discussion of people storming Area 51, and that little high-and-mighty cat facing off against the distraught blonde woman. Tony found himself wryly chuckling anyways, until somehow the subject matter funneled into one specific topic.

Bucky sent a picture of a cat with the inside of its mouth glowing like a supernova captioned, "How your mouth feels when you wake up with mucositis." Upon seeing it, Tony cringed just imagining what the physical manifestation of that image would feel like. Natasha, Nick, and Clint, on the other hand, all responded with multitudes of laughing emojis. Nick replied with a meme of his own, a photo of the girl from Stranger Things hoarding boxes and boxes of Eggos: "When you find that only food that tastes good during chemo and everything else tastes like rubber."

Again, Tony didn't completely understand how they could laugh at this. To him it just seemed sad. Clint, not to be left out, sent a scene from Spongebob of people celebrating in a burnt wasteland of Bikini Bottom, captioned, "How my organs look like when I'm getting a blood transfusion because my hemoglobin was at 5.2." Tony didn't even understand what that meant, but it looked terrible.

Nick shot back with, "When you thought you're going to live your best life after finishing treatment but then the cancer relapsed" with a person falling violently down the stairs at a red carpet event.

"I hope I will never be able to relate to that," Bucky responded.

"You can't worry about relapse if you never get into remission in the first place," Clint added with a winky face emoji. Tony was no stranger to his friends' occasionally morbid sense of humor, but this took it a step further. He'd never seen them make light of their life stories to this degree.

Natasha contributed: "Me, if getting all the listed chemo side effects is a sport" with a picture of Michael Phelps displaying his many Olympic gold medals. Tony considered asking another non-cancer kid in a separate message if they were made uncomfortable by this string of memes, but before he could make that decision another appeared that incorporated a larger audience.

Bucky sent one with a Chihuahua gagging captioned, "When you taste the saline from the port flush."

"I understood that reference!" Steve texted. Still, Tony didn't. He wanted to just put his phone down and ignore this conversation, but a sort of morbid fascination kept him silently tuned in.

"Accurate representation of me doing a bone marrow biopsy without sedation," Natasha sent, accompanied by a photo of a man lying prone and desperately reaching for a cell phone just out of his reach, a silent scream of panic plastered on his face.

Clint replied with three laughing emojis and stated, "I don't know why you always refuse sedation."

"She's crazy," Bucky reminded him.

"I feel better faster with no medicine to sleep off," she explained.

"And I feel better when I'm not aware of people sticking me with big needles to pull stuff out," Clint responded.

Tony couldn't take it anymore. "Mind if we change the subject matter?" he typed. He hesitated before hitting send, but ultimately decided to do it.

"Sure." Bucky said. Then he sent a stupid video of a dog chasing the water from a hose, which Tony topped with a looping gif of a startled dog leaping away from a cat. He was never more thankful for the group chat than in that moment, when it was their only option for communication. Tony imagined he'd go crazy if he couldn't speak to any of them for an extended period of time.

~0~

As promised, his mother brought him comfort soup. If Tony had to pick the one thing he missed most about living at home, it would be his mother's cooking. No contest. Family dinners, even though more often than not it was just the two of them, had always been his favorite time of day.

"I'm so glad to see you, sweetheart," Maria said earnestly. Tony could tell she was smiling even through the face mask, and he smiled too despite his still bone-deep exhaustion. Rhodes had started switching him to his adjusted medication regimen and he could already feel the difference, coupled with still recovering from the infection.

"You too. It's been lonely with everyone in isolation. But it worked; nobody else got sick, so I can't exactly complain about it."

"I suppose not."

"Is—is Dad coming?" Tony dared to ask. He hadn't been here since that first day they dropped him off and, believe it or not, Tony kind of wished he'd stop by even for a little bit. Not because he was dying for father-son bonding time or anything; he just wanted proof that Howard cared about him. So far he hadn't seen any.

"No, he's busy with work. But he sends his best."

"A lot of good that does," Tony scoffed.

"Don't disrespect your father like that. In some circumstances, sending our best is all we can do."

"He could call. I know he doesn't have much free time—I've lived with that my whole life—but it would be nice to hear from him every once in a while. Everyone else here talks to all of their living parents almost every day. Natasha's parents are all the way in Russia and she still calls them every day."

"Tony, you know that our family is different than others."

"Yes. But Mom, do you really think it's okay that he barely speaks to me? I mean, I could have died from this. Did he at least seem relieved when you told him I was getting better?"

"Your father is a very hyper-focused man with a lot on his plate. He has to compartmentalize worrying about you so that it doesn't affect his work. And yes, he was elated to hear you were on the mend."

"That's a relief. The thought did cross my mind that maybe he would be indifferent if I died."

"Anthony! How dare you say such awful things! You are his _son_. No parent is indifferent when their child is ill, but some cope in different ways."

"Alright, fine," Tony surrendered. He didn't have the energy to argue about his father any longer. He needed to just accept that nothing he did, good or bad, would actually bring his father's attention to him. Maybe when he was old enough to work at Stark Industries and became a colleague in addition to a son Howard would finally turn his head. That was, if he lasted that long. His recent illness had forced him to recognize just how grave this whole heart thing was. If he'd been healthy, he probably would've suffered just a sore throat and kicked it in a day or two without the help of antibiotics. It was hard not to wish ill on other people when the only thing that would save his life was someone else's death.

He ate a spoonful of soup, savoring the flavor—just strong enough to be tasted if he was congested but not strong enough to make him nauseous. If he closed his eyes while tasting it, he could almost imagine he was home in his room with a simple head cold, not possibly dying in a hospital. "Thank you," he said, gesturing to the thermos.

"You're welcome." She seemed to accept they were jettisoning the subject of his father.

"Did I tell you that the king of Wakanda was here about a week ago?"

"You didn't. What was he doing here?"

"Arranging to ship a bunch of Vibranin and helping ensure there's more of a safety net in place if something like that were to happen again."

"Good for him. Your father's always going on about how much Wakanda could do if they decided to crawl out of their shell."

"Well, we got to speak to the king and his little sister. He explained that they focus all of their international efforts into managing healthcare crises like the one that just happened. His father and uncle died of cancer, so their current research and development is mostly in medicine."

"That's very respectable of them."

"I agree. Imagine how many people Stark Industries could help if they worked on biomedical engineering instead of weapons."

"Every company has its purpose, and Stark Industries is a weapons manufacturer. That's not going to change."

"Why not?"

"I don't know all the inner workings of a multi-billion dollar company, but I do know that a transition like that isn't feasible. I'm not really the person to have this conversation with."

"But Dad is never willing to listen to me and have a conversation."

"If it's about the company I'm sure he will."

"No he won't. You're just saying that to get me to drop it."

"I am not. I do, however, wish to discontinue this conversation before it upsets you. You shouldn't be getting worked up."

"I'm not worked up," Tony insisted.

"Your squeezing that thermos so tightly you're about to dent it."

He froze and looked down at his hands, realizing she was exactly right. He relinquished his grip and sighed in defeat. They'd circled back to Howard after purposefully changing the subject.

"The princess of Wakanda is crazy smart," he said pointedly.

"You met her?"

"She spent time with us while the king was in meetings. We played a combination of Risk and Catan and she totally dominated."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know for sure, maybe eight or nine?"

"That's impressive. You've always been an incredibly bright child."

"This kid's got twice the lumens as me when it comes to brightness."

"Don't sell yourself short."

"I'm not. That's just an accurate estimate."

"Fine. But you'll always be the brightest star in my sky."

The metaphor was cheesy as hell, but Tony could feel the tangible love behind it. In all honesty, his mother made up for his father's apathy with just how much she cared. That night Tony slept without nightmares, thinking only of his mother and the way things used to be before Gravesen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a short chapter, but we're heading into one of my favorite stretches of the entire story. Also, I have to make a slight change to the update schedule since I'll be heading back to school. Instead of Wednesday morning, I will be posting the second chapter of the week on Tuesday night (EST), but the Saturday update will still be the same time.


	28. The Twins

Word traveled fast in a hospital. Especially word regarding anything new and exciting. Towards the tail end of the chitauri fiasco, that word began to spread even faster than the bacteria had. Thor overheard the latter half of one of Wong's phone conversations and Steve noticed Dr. Coulson acting more frantically organized than usual. Dr. Strange could be seen waltzing through the halls in genuine excitement, a rare accomplishment for someone as easily bored as him. Heimdall and Sharon spent a long time in the empty room between Quill and Nick. A double bed was rolled in to replace the single. The residents couldn't help but speculate about what was coming.

"Why would they roll in a double bed?" Clint asked. "If there's two people, they would just add another single or put one in another room."

"Could just be one large person," Quill suggested.

"You mean a bariatric patient?" Bucky questioned.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Why would Wong and Strange be involved with a morbid obesity case?" Thor asked.

"I think some brain tumors can cause weight gain," Tony remarked. "Quill, can you confirm or deny?"

"Depends on where it is, I guess. I have no idea. I only really know about mine."

"Well if Coulson's freaking out and Strange is on cloud nine, it must be some sort of rare surgical case," Steve insisted. "Last time Coulson got like this was when they had to construct a new larynx for a mute kid out of bone tissue from his ribs. And this level of enthusiasm in Strange is something I've never seen before."

"Steve's probably right," Bucky said. "If Strange is excited and Coulson is fretting, it must be something way out of the ordinary. They do so many surgeries here that most things are routine. Chopping off an arm is just another Tuesday."

"Yours was on a Thursday," Clint reminded him.

"Whatever. You get the point."

"The double bed still mystifies me," Tony admitted. "What sort of patient is too big for a normal sized bed and requires a rare form of neurosurgery?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Steve remarked.

~0~

The mystery patient moved in sometime that night, when all the other residents were asleep. They met her the next morning when they stumbled into the common room and found her on the sofa watching TV in a language they didn't recognize. Well, they found _them_ , not her. Tony, Steve, Bucky, Thor, and Quill walked into the common room that morning expecting to find it empty. Instead, they encountered two girls snuggled together, heads touching. It was kind of cute.

"Good morning," Steve greeted cautiously, not wanting to startle them.

Neither turned around, but the one on the left said, "Good morning," in an accent Tony couldn't quite identify, though he'd probably place it somewhere in Eastern Europe. The one on the right grabbed the remote and turned off whatever they'd been watching. They stood up, and all the other residents immediately came to the same startling conclusion. They hadn't been cuddling head to head—they were conjoined at the scalp. Now they understood Wong's involvement, Coulson's mental state, and the double bed.

"Nice to meet you," Steve said with composure Tony recognized as forced. "I'm Steve."

"I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff."

"And I'm Pietra. But most people just call us 'the Twins.'"

"Wait—you guys are twins?" Quill asked jokingly.

They chuckled with genuine amusement. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" Pietra said. "I mean, we're completely different! She's on the left, and I'm on the right."

"I think she means to say that she's the arrogant one," Wanda countered.

"Just because I'm always right?"

"No, just because you always make that same stupid joke." She elbowed her sister in the side, not a difficult task given their close proximity. The group drifted farther into the common room and sat down, still in shock at the new arrivals. Wanda and Pietra sat back down and stared expectantly at the crowd of teenagers eyeing them in wonder.

"Alright, we'll take questions one at a time, just raise your hands," Pietra said, sounding like she'd gone through this countless times before. Five hands shot straight up. Wanda and Pietra made no immediate move to choose someone, so Tony, Steve, Thor, and Quill simultaneously conjured the childish idea to raise two hands to increase their odds of getting called on.

"No fair!" Bucky cried. Thor stuck his tongue out at him, and Bucky made a gesture which was probably him intending to cross his arms and forgetting it didn't look quite the same. It kinda just looked like he was hugging himself. Wanda took pity on him and allowed him to ask a question first. "I can't quite place your accent; where are you from?"

"Sokovia," she and Pietra answered at the same time.

"Where's that?"

"Europe," they said vaguely.

"That's helpful," Tony muttered.

"Geography is not our favorite subject," Pietra admitted. "Next question."

"Are your brains connected too, or just your skull and scalp?" Steve asked. Leave it to him to ask a legitimate medical question.

"Sort of. We have separate brains, but there's extra bits in the part that connects us. That's why we're here. Chopping us in half is too complicated for all the other doctors, so they sent us to Gravesen."

"Why do you need to be separated?"

Wanda put a hand beside her mouth and started stage-whispering, "Don't tell Pietra, but it's because after fourteen years of constant companionship, I'm ready to be rid of her."

"I heard that!" Pietra said indignantly. "And that is false; you're the one who was against separation."

"I was not!"

"You still haven't answered my question," Steve interrupted.

"It's complicated," Wanda sighed. "But then again, just about everything about us is."

"Long story short, our spines don't like us having to walk with our heads together, and some of our organs aren't too happy either," Pietra explained.

"Can you read each other's minds?" Thor asked.

Pietra and Wanda glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes and counted to three. "Yes," Pietra stated confidently.

"No," Wanda said at the exact same time with the exact same conviction.

"Well, that answers that question," Bucky deadpanned.

"If I had the option to read her mind, I'd rather be illiterate," Wanda snipped.

"Hey!" Now it was Pietra's turn to elbow Wanda.

"They fight worse than Clint and Natasha," Tony whispered to Steve.

Thor overheard him and chimed in, "They fight worse than me and Loki."

"Well, you would fight with someone too if you never got a moment away from them," Steve said.

"Rogers appreciates his alone time," Tony remarked.

"Don't call me that," Steve countered. "It's so unnecessarily professional."

"What, you got something against your family name? I mean, I'm not saying I don't get it, because I sometimes want to be as dissimilar from my father as possible, but what's wrong with Rogers?"

"I just prefer Steve. Rogers is a name that was just passed down, but Steve is what my parents chose for me. It means more," Steve explained haltingly. Tony suspected he came up with that on the spot to avoid sharing the real reason, but decided not to pressure him. His using the name Rogers clearly made Steve uncomfortable.

"Are you named after a famous Steve?" Thor asked.

Steve nodded. "Adlai Ewing Stevenson."

"Who the hell is that?" Tony asked.

"Vice president to Grover Cleveland in the late eighteen hundreds. And my middle name comes from Ulysses Grant, the eighteenth president."

"That's weird."

"You think that's weird? Where do you think Bucky's name comes from?"

"I don't know, the Call of the Wild?"

"Bucky's just a nickname. His real name is James Buchanan, after the president before Lincoln."

"Why are you both named after such obscure American historical figures?"

"I don't know. Ask our parents. The weirdest part is that Stevenson's middle name is Ewing, and Bucky's type of cancer was discovered and named by a guy named James Ewing."

"That's a tangled web for sure."

"Why are you all blabbering on when Wanda and Pietra are clearly the more interesting narrators at the moment?" Bucky asked. "You just missed them telling the story of the time they tried to get into the movies with only one ticket."

"Sorry, got sidetracked," Tony admitted. "But we'll sit here and listen to all the crazy conjoined twin stories you have until one of us has to leave for treatment or drops dead."

"Not funny," Quill grumbled.

"Wanda, remember our first day of school?" Pietra asked with a snicker.

"How could I forget?"

"This I've got to hear," Thor said, scooting his chair closer as if it would help him listen better.

"Now, we're from a pretty small town, but not so small that the other kids knew us before starting school."

"We couldn't see your faces when you saw us for the first time, but we're familiar with the typical reaction. But most people your age disguise it out of a learned sense of politeness. Five-year-olds have no such qualms."

"No such qualms," Wanda echoed.

"Even at such a young age, we were used to being stared at in public. Whether they could tell we were connected, or just thought we were acting weird, people stared at us all the time. Our mother never even acknowledged them, so we did the same."

"But as soon as we walked in the door of the classroom, all the other kids started following us around silently. We ignored them, like Mom had taught us, and just played with some blocks, and some of them let us be and went about their own business, but there were a few that refused to take their eyes off of us."

"So, naturally, we turned around to face them and kindly introduced ourselves."

"But we did it wrong."

"How do you introduce yourself wrong?" Quill asked.

"Intentionally wrong," Wanda corrected. "It's a joke we made up almost as soon as we learned how to talk. It goes a bit like this."

"Hi, nice to meet you, my name is Wanda," Pietra said with a little wave.

"And I'm Pietra," Wanda added.

"Wait just a minute, did you say Pietra? That's my name!"

"But you just said you were Wanda."

" _You're_ Wanda."

"We can't both be Wanda."

"I'm Pietra, and you're Wanda."

"No, I'm Pietra, and you're Wanda."

"No, that's not how it goes! Pietra is on the right and Wanda's on the left. That's how it's always been."

"You're right!"

"Anyways, we introduced ourselves like that and this one kid got scared and called the teacher over to tell her we didn't know our own names," Pietra laughed.

"And then he and his friend made us nametags," Wanda concluded.

"We considered putting them on wrong, but decided that we didn't want any more confusion than we'd already created."

"Unlike most identical twins, we're pretty easy to tell apart—the whole left and right thing. So learning our names wasn't the problem. Adjusting to our difference was a bit more difficult for them."

"We don't run," Pietra explained. "Figuring out walking took long enough, but running on a playground full of kids requires more range of motion in the neck than we're capable of. Imagine playing tag without being able to look over your shoulder."

"If it makes you feel any better, most of us can't run either," Steve mentioned.

"We're not five anymore. There are many more important things than joining in on playground games," Wanda explained. "But thanks for the pick-me-up."

"The important thing is, at some point one of them thought tug-of-war would be more fun than tag."

"He wondered if they put all their strength together they could tug hard enough to pull us apart."

"That's horrible!" Steve sounded as mortified as they all felt.

"Fortunately, they weren't skilled enough in their technique to even come close, but Wanda cried loudly enough for the teacher to notice and run over to stop it."

"Mom almost pulled us out of public school as soon as she heard about that. She wanted us homeschooled, but we didn't want that."

"Did you get to stay?" Quill asked.

"Yeah. We convinced her. And that kid never messed with us again. The rest of school pretty much went off without a hitch, until a few months ago when our health started to suffer."

"Without a hitch? How is that possible?" Thor asked.

"I feel like there would be some hiccups in schooling when your head is stuck to someone else's. How did you agree on what classes to take when you got old enough to pick?" Tony asked.

"There aren't many options in Sokovian schools. We learn history, math, language, science, all the usual school things. You get to choose in American schools?"

"Well, classes usually come in different difficulty levels."

"God, American life is so complicated. Once we're separated, promise me we'll never come back here Wanda."

"Promise."

They paused. "Should we tell them about test-taking?"

Wanda smirked. "We should definitely tell them about test-taking."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked.

"Sokovian teachers aren't exactly the most innovative," Pietra explained.

"And they needed a way to make sure we didn't cheat on tests," Wanda continued. "Putting up a divider between us isn't really feasible, you know, since our heads are basically one and the same."

"So this teacher came up with the idea of blindfolding one of us while the other took the test. She'd watch us super closely to make sure we didn't whisper to each other to solve the problem together. And then she'd switch the blindfold and the other would take the test."

"She told all the teachers in the school about her magnificent technique and in every single class after that we took tests like that."

"That's insane," Tony said, shocked. "That has to be against some rules or something."

"Not any rules that the teachers played by," Pietra sighed.

"Did they give you extra time since you had to take it one after the other?" Steve asked.

"Usually. They weren't so cruel as to make us take it in half the time."

"They would have had a harder time of it if we could read each other's minds," Wanda said with a smirk.

"I'll be the first to say it—you guys are the most interesting newbies that have ever set foot in this hospital," Steve announced. "No offense, Tony."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over ten chapters ago someone asked if Wanda would be entering this story...well, there's your answer. Also, just to make something clear, genderbending Pietro was a narrative necessity because conjoined twins are always identical.


	29. Something You've Always Wanted to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting half a day early because I have an insanely busy day tomorrow. Hope you don't mind :)

Everyone at Gravesen adored the Twins. They were vibrant, hilarious, and loved being around other people as much as the others enjoyed being around them. Every second that they weren't in treatment or sleeping, the residents wanted to spend together sharing stories with their new friends. Natasha and Clint even convinced Wanda and Pietra to sit with them through a chemo session, as was the right of passage for all Gravesen residents. Of course, the Twins also had their own tests and imaging to attend. Apparently the doctors needed to map out the section that connected them practically down to the cell. Within a day of their arrival, their names were added to the Gauntlet in the common room. After explaining the concept, everyone agreed that, at this point, Thanatos had only claimed their Space and Reality. Wanda and Pietra insisted their power wasn't diminished by being connected—if anything, it was enhanced—and that even if given the choice they'd probably spend all their time together.

"What's something you've always wanted to do but couldn't?" Pietra asked the assembled group after the Xs had been placed. "Wanda and I have our list, but I want to know about all of yours."

"Always wanted to do since when? Some of us haven't been sick our entire lives," Bucky said.

"Since whenever you want."

"Drive," Thor answered immediately. "My sister Hela rubbed it in my face when she got her driver's license. The closest I'll ever get is playing Mario Kart."

"Mario Kart is way more fun than real driving," Tony assured him. "You can't hurl turtle shells at people who annoy you in real life."

"And most roads don't have banana peels on them," Parker added.

"He's right," Pietra said. "Who's next? Come on, let's dig deep."

"I want to hug my friend Brian," Steve spoke up.

"Wait a minute, what are you hinting at?" Bucky asked incredulously.

"Not like that. He also has CF; we were in here together when we were little. But two people with CF can't get closer than six feet or they risk exchanging bacteria and killing each other. So whenever see him in person we have to keep our distance."

"That sucks," Parker sighed.

"I suppose Pietra and I have the opposite problem," Wanda said. "Forced proximity."

"Not sure which would be worse," Pietra grumbled.

"Pretty soon you guys will be able to find out," Thor mentioned.

"We can have a race and finally decide once and for all which one of us has been setting the pace for fourteen years," Wanda quipped.

"I'm the fast one," Pietra insisted.

"If you say so. But shut up, I want to hear about more of our friends' dreams. I listen to you babble all the time."

"I want to go zip lining," Parker said. "Like real zip lining, not the silly ones for little kids."

"Why can't you zip line?" Steve asked.

"Weight limit," he mumbled, hesitant to admit it.

"Well, they can't have anyone getting stuck in the middle."

"That would be the fun part," he countered. "Experience the view for longer."

"He's got a point," Nick said.

"Well, what's your dream, Nick?" Parker asked.

"I don't know. Just to not go blind."

"That doesn't count," Bucky told him. "You can't have a dream to _not_ do something."

"Why are you pissing on my anti-dream?"

"I'm not, I'm just telling you to aim higher."

"Fine. I want to play paintball and dominate. Which is hard to do without accurate depth perception."

"There we go," Bucky congratulated.

"Your turn," Nick shot back.

"Man, I just want to be able to tie my shoes again." Silence. Nobody dared make fun of him for having such a small goal; they all simultaneously realized how much they took for granted.

"We tie ours together," Pietra said. "I do one hand and Wanda does the other."

"Why? You both have two hands," Nick pointed out.

"It's fun. And a great teamwork exercise."

"Pietra, our entire lives are a teamwork exercise," Wanda added. "And speaking of teamwork, this conversation is not ending until each and every one of you has shared your dreams. This is an all-inclusive environment."

"Guess I'll go," Tony said. "This has nothing to do with being sick, but I just want to do something important with my life. Get my name down in some future history book, even if it's about a really niche subject."

"We said something you've always wanted to do but couldn't," Pietra reminded him. "What's stopping you from doing that?"

"Being stuck in here. This environment isn't exactly conducive to inventing or feats of scientific genius."

"I guess you're right," Steve said. "But we'll all be looking for your name on the news when you get out of here."

"If," Tony corrected.

"Well that's no way to think about it," Wanda scolded.

"I'm just being realistic."

"That's the doctors' job," Clint told him. "We just mindlessly believe that everything will be okay until it either is or we die and don't have to worry about it anymore. If you spend your whole life being realistic, you die every time you hear bad news and think it's the end of the world…and then eventually die for real. If you spend your whole life being optimistic, nothing can kill you until Thanatos comes around."

"Who taught you that?" Natasha asked him with a frown.

"Cancer did."

"Well, with all this optimism, what's your currently unachievable dream?" Tony asked.

"I've had cancer for almost as long as I can remember. I just want to go to a normal school as a normal kid for once. I only managed like a year of preschool before I was diagnosed and have been in and out of the hospital ever since, so my parents homeschool me. Whenever I spend time with other kids my age, I'm always just the cancer kid."

"You're just a normal kid in our school," Parker pointed out.

"But our school isn't normal."

"What does normal even mean?" Pietra questioned. "Most people would look at us and say we're abnormal. But to us, this is normal. We've never known anything else."

"But I have. I can barely remember it, but I know there was a time when I was just like all the other kids."

"All the other kids?" Natasha growled. "One in two hundred eighty five kids has cancer. It is not rare."

"It's rare enough that I'm the center of attention everywhere but here."

"Ever been to CureFest?" Nick asked.

"No."

"Happens in Washington DC every year. It's a gathering to raise awareness and funding for pediatric cancer. Only four percent of the national budget for cancer research goes to pediatric cancer. There are a lot of people in this country fighting to change that."

"Not enough," Bucky grumbled.

"Hey, you aren't dead yet," Quill countered. "They must be doing something right."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not merely too stubborn to die."

"Whoa. I didn't realize we'd start such a morbid discussion," Wanda muttered.

"You did ask about things we couldn't do. That's not exactly a positive note to start on," Tony pointed out.

"I want to dance again," Natasha stated, bringing everyone's attention back to her.

"Why can't you?" Parker asked.

Natasha took a few moments before answering, possibly to mentally rehearse the words. No wonder why, the next phrase to leave her mouth was something even Tony didn't think he could pronounce. "Avascular necrosis. Side effect of chemo. My bones are dying, and dance will break them. So I cannot do it anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Nat, I had no idea," Clint said.

"Chemo took your ears, and then it took my ankles," she said solemnly.

"Does anyone have any dreams that aren't life shattering?" Thor asked, but he was drowned out by a chorus of sympathy for Natasha.

"To divert from this depressing line of conversation, I'd just like to say I want to someday travel the world," Quill added.

"That's a good dream to have," Steve said. "Wanda and Pietra, you started this whole debacle of a conversation. I'm assuming it's because you want to share your list?" The Twins clasped hands and smiled knowingly.

"We just want to look each other in the eye," they said. With their heads fused together like that, looking at each other wasn't an option unless from a sideways glance. Wanda continued, "I want to see her smile without having to look in a mirror."

"Sorry everyone, they win for sappiest dream," Quill remarked.

"Not gonna challenge that," Bucky said.

"When's the big surgery scheduled for?" Clint asked.

"It's tomorrow."

~0~

Surgery days sucked. That was a truth universally accepted by everyone who'd ever needed one. Once the dreaded NPO sign went up on your hospital room door, everything started to spiral. NPO meant no food or drink—it prevented aspiration under anesthesia. But it also added hunger and crankiness to already skyrocketing anxiety levels. For nurses, it could be a lethal combination.

It was often the scariest day in a person's life. They went to sleep and woke up with their body altered, possibly forever. Yes, ideally the alteration saved them from some danger or discomfort, but it was an alteration nonetheless. Clint had tumors removed, Nick had an entire eye taken out, Steve and Natasha had a port placed, Tony had a defibrillator implanted, Quill had his skull sawed open, and Bucky lost an entire arm. As far as Tony knew, among them, Thor, Parker, and Bruce were the only ones who hadn't gone under the knife at one point or another.

However, one important detail related all those procedures to one another. They were routine. Yes, it was a terrifying new experience for the patient, but the surgeons had done them countless times before on other patients just like them. Not this time. Wanda and Pietra were one of a kind, and everyone knew their team would be just as nervous as they were. Separating conjoined twins was not something any surgeon did on a regular basis, because there weren't enough conjoined twins in the world for any doctor to practice. Wanda and Pietra certainly didn't act nervous, but even after knowing them for such a short time the other residents could tell they feared the worst. The evening before surgery, their banter and arguing lost its playfulness and took on an almost somber tone. Their lives would change forever after that day. And they weren't entirely sure they would like it.

"What if we weren't meant to be separated?" Wanda asked Pietra. "What if we were born like this because we were meant to stay like this?"

"Are you saying you don't want to do it? Because if you're not on board I'm not either."

"I want to, I'm just scared. I don't know how to do anything without you."

"You've never had to. You'll learn. We both will. We can stay close for the first few weeks until we get the hang of being apart."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Although I am tempted to run as far away from you as possible as soon as I get the chance," Pietra said.

"You wouldn't!"

"I might."

"Pietra Maximoff, don't you dare leave me."

"I could never. You're the left to my right."

"We should ask the doctors to put us on opposite sides once we're separated. Then I can be right for once."

"Sounds like a plan."

~0~

"Why am I nervous?" Steve asked genuinely.

"Two of your new friends are currently undergoing risky surgery," Bucky told him. "That's nerve-wracking."

"I know it is. But I've had friends go into surgery before and it's never felt quite like this."

"Risky is the key word here," Tony pointed out.

"Strange certainly knows what he's doing," Bucky said. "The guy has a flawless surgical record."

"But what if it's not enough? This is crazy complicated and unique."

"So is pretty much every tumor resection ever performed. No two are exactly alike, but they still manage to do a good job of it," Bucky added.

"I know you're just trying to make me feel better. You don't really believe this is comparable to a tumor resection?"

"Which one of them is the tumor?" Bucky asked jokingly.

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Steve said sternly. He was evidently strung up with nerves, though he seemed to eminate a deeper grief with no obvious cause. At least, it wasn't obvious to Tony.

"Definitely Pietra," Tony answered, earning himself a death glare from Steve. "And yes, Steve, we're just trying to make you feel better. I'm worried about them too. But worrying isn't going to help them. You can pray if you're into that kind of thing, but I'm just placing my trust in the people in charge and hoping for the best. It's a strategy that's served me well so far."

"I guess you're right. My nerves don't help anybody. But I can't stop thinking about their parents back in Sokovia, what they must be thinking, and how hard it'll be for them if something bad happens. I've seen what losing a child does to parents, and..." he got choked up and wiped a stray tear before composing himself enough to finish his sentence, "...and it's worse than anything."

Tony's heart broke at the sight of Steve in such a state. He'd seen him worried before, during Bucky's surgery, but never anything remotely close to this. Fear and nervousness made sense given the situation, but sadness and tears? There must be something else going on. Bucky evidently didn't share his confusion, and while Steve descended further into a sobbing breakdown he moved in to put his arm around his friend's shoulders while also eyeing Tony solemnly. Tony didn't know if that look meant he should leave to offer them privacy for whatever this was or if it meant Bucky was apologizing for not informing Tony of the volatility of this day sooner. Paralyzed with indecision, Tony ended up just sitting there uselessly while his friend suffered.

Bucky beckoned Tony over with a nod of his head and whispered in his hear, "Go get his blanket." Tony found the request a little odd, but he walked from Bucky's to Steve's room to fetch it. Having never actually touched it before, Tony marveled at the American flag-patterned blanket's incredible softness. He marched back to Bucky's and tried to hand it to him. However, Bucky's only arm was still holding Steve, so Tony gently eased it into Steve's sightline and waited for him to accept it. His cries didn't cease or even hitch, but he reached out and clutched the blanket to his chest, burying his face in it. Tony, now even more confused, sat back down and looked to Bucky for help.

Why did the thought of Wanda or Pietra dying, specifically their parents' reaction to it, even cross Steve's mind today? Yes, it was a risky surgery, but the team at Gravesen wouldn't have even suggested it if there wasn't a decent chance of success, right? And the Maximoffs wouldn't have agreed if they didn't believe Strange could do it. Was there another reason for Steve to think of bereaved parents today? When he recounted the tale of little Scott, Tony got the sense Steve carried the memories of more fallen friends. It was inevitable when one spent time in a hospital over the course of many years like Steve had. Tony only wished he knew what today signified so he could better help his friend.

As Steve began to calm down and the tears slowed, Tony dared to ask, "Do you want to talk about it?" He still had very little idea what 'it' could be, asking both out of curiosity and sympathy.

"I'm sorry," Steve began. "Today...today would have been Carol's seventeenth birthday."

"Oh." That was not exactly the answer Tony expected. Most of what he knew about Carol came from Parker, but Steve must have known her the longest based on his position on the gauntlet. There existed months of history that Tony knew barely anything about. Tony suddenly felt like an intruder on an intimate moment; he had no right to mourn someone he'd never known alongside two of the deceased's close friends. He needed to say something more worthwhile than "oh," but he drew a blank on how to react to that statement without making things worse. To avoid that, he decided to ask how he could help instead of trying to figure it out himself: "Is there anything I can do?"

That at least earned him a half-hearted smile. "Thank you for asking." Steve seemed hesitant to make a request, as if he couldn't tell Tony was willing to do literally anything to make this day even a little bit easier for him. "Could you just...give me some space for a few hours?"

"Of course," Tony stammered. He should have listened to his gut earlier and left Steve alone with Bucky, but he'd selfishly wanted to satisfy his curiosity. It made perfect sense that he wouldn't be welcome when he was a walking reminder of the exact thing that had killed Carol. He stumbled back to his room and dug out his da Vinci book to try and distract himself. It was a simple enough request, to give Steve space, but with every passing second it proved to be more difficult. Now he sat alone with his thoughts. Tony didn't dare seek out company from any of the other residents now that he knew what today was. They would all be grieving for Carol while he could do nothing but wish he'd had the pleasure of knowing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the perfect juncture for me to offer my first Prequel Preview, as I've started calling them. We didn't get much Captain America/Captain Marvel interaction in the movies, but Steve and Carol's relationship is one I had a great time exploring as I worked my way through his prequel. Now, my intention going into this project was that each character would get maybe 20,000 words of backstory at most. But, given that Steve's lived his entire life in and out of Gravesen as someone with a chronic illness, there were many more years to explore and his prequel ended up being over 60,000 words. Oops.
> 
> I have entitled it "The Thorns of Sixty Five Roses" and the official summary reads, "For Steve, there was no before or after Gravesen, only between. That's the chronic illness gig. However, there was a before Tony, before Carol, before Clint and Scott, and before Bucky. His story begins there."
> 
> Some highlights you can look forward to: six-year-old Steve Rogers, B.P.S.S.E. (big pre-serum Steve energy), obscure comic book references, and Carol content out the wazoo. Hopefully, this little snippet is enough to get you excited for future Gravesen stories without being too much of a distraction from the ongoing storyline. If people seem to like this one, I'll give more sneak peaks in later chapters :)


	30. You Didn't See That Coming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lot of good energy from the Prequel Preview, so I'll definitely do one or two more before this story's over.

It was two hours longer than what they'd been told before any of the residents heard news about the Twins. Since their parents remained in Sokovia, the surgeons disappeared into their offices to make phone calls to the family instead of going to the waiting room to share how it went. Tony knew that he wouldn't hear anything from the surgeons since he wasn't related to Wanda and Pietra, but the nurses were another story. They somehow knew everything and were much more sympathetic than doctors when it came to sharing information about patients with their fellow residents.

Maria brought him his evening meds and without preamble he asked, "How did it go?"

"Tony, you know I'm technically not allowed to tell you these things," she said.

"And we both know you're going to tell me anyway because we both know that rule is obsolete."

"Alright. But if I get fired, know it was at least partially your fault."

"I'll take full responsibility. They can fire me too if they feel like it," he said. Maria gave a wry smile.

"Well, they're separated. But we won't have a solid prognosis until a little later."

"That's awfully vague. Did something happen that the surgeons are worried about?"

"This was a rare, complicated operation, so they don't know exactly what to expect. We just have to wait and see."

"None of what you're saying bodes well."

"Then I'll stop talking. Go to sleep, it's been a long day."

"Not sure I'll be able to sleep after what you just told me."

"Don't think about it. You can visit later once we've done some necessary evaluations."

But it was all Tony could think about. Maria telling him not to only made it worse. He lay awake for an hour before giving up and walking over to Steve's room. It had been over six hours since Steve asked Tony to leave him alone, and Tony's need to talk to him outweighed his fear of Steve not being ready for his company yet. He found the other boy sitting up and sketching instead of sleeping. As soon as Tony entered, Steve flipped the sketchbook to hide whatever he'd been working on.

Tony ignored the gesture and asked, "Did Maria talk to you too?"

Steve nodded. "By now I know how to interpret everything the doctors and nurses don't say when they give us news."

"What didn't she say?"

"She didn't say that there's a chance of severe brain damage because of something that happened during surgery."

"You're right, she did not say that. But you're saying that's what she meant?"

"Definitely. They must have poked something or popped a blood vessel and they won't know how badly they messed up until they can ask them questions and everything."

"You think they messed something up?"

"Yeah. That's the only reason Maria didn't say, 'It went great and they're going to be fine.' They always says if they're going to be okay when they know. That's what they said after Bucky's, and it's what they said after yours."

"Steve, I'm gonna be honest, I came in here for reassurance but now I'm even more concerned."

"Sorry. I can't lie to you; that's what I believe happened."

"I don't expect you to placate me. I was just hoping your expert analysis would yield something less frightening."

"I was hoping that too."

~0~

An agonized howl echoed up and down the corridors of the hospital, shattering the silence of the early morning. It resounded with a grief so powerful Tony thought the walls might crumble. It lingered far longer than should be possible for a human voice, a devastating crescendo that reached its apex and then ricocheted erratically back to silence. He'd never heard a sound so rich with palpable sorrow, and he desperately hoped he'd never hear another even remotely close.

He knew only one thing could elicit such a wail from a person, though he wished he didn't. He walked next door to Steve's room and knocked gently, hearing the other boy invite him inside. He opened the door and found Natasha, Clint, and Nick already curled up around Steve, the latter two openly crying.

"I'm guessing you heard it too?" Tony said.

Steve nodded solemnly, hugging Nick closer as the boy's sobs intensified. Natasha looked up at Tony, eyes tearless but mirroring his own despair. Tony sat down next to the group and silently pleaded with Steve, "What do we do?"

Another knock at the door, and Parker entered at Steve's invitation. Clearly he understood what had just occurred; Tony could tell from his posture. But instead of diving for Steve like all the other kids did when they were upset, he headed straight for Tony and tucked himself in next to him as tightly as he could. Tony put Parker's choice of companionship off to the lack of open space around Steve, who had always been the dedicated comfort provider because of his greater experience and more compassionate personality. Despite this, Tony tried his best in the rare moments he found himself acting as a rock or an advisor for any of the other residents, younger or not. This moment certainly counted. He wrapped an arm around Parker's shoulders, resisting a wince as he traced bones that still jutted out too far.

They sat there, huddled together for some indeterminate amount of time before anyone dared speak. By then, everyone had run out of tears, except Natasha who hadn't cried in the first place. If it weren't for her posture, typically as erect as a soldier but now hopelessly slouched, Tony wouldn't have been able to tell anything had upset her. Parker eventually shattered the thick silence, asking the question that occupied all their minds: "Who was it?" They all knew it could be only one of two people, but as to which, they had no clue.

"I don't know," Steve sighed.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Nick added.

"What do we do?" Clint asked.

"I don't know," Steve admitted, possibly for the first time Tony had ever heard. Steve always knew what to do in situations like these. He could talk anybody through the worst pain, fear, and sorrow, but evidently this was beyond even him. What do you say to a person that just lost their other half—literally? What could anybody possibly say or do to alleviate even a portion of that misery?

"Maria told me they were separated," Tony remembered. "She said they wouldn't have a solid prognosis until later. She lied."

"We don't know that," Steve corrected. "Maybe they were both alive at that point."

"You really think so?"

"It's possible. She never overtly lied. She didn't say they both survived the surgery."

"You said you could tell everything she didn't say, and you only mentioned possible brain damage. You didn't say that she neglected to tell us one of them died," Tony countered, traces of anger starting to slip into his voice. He wasn't mad at Steve, how could he be? But Tony had trusted him to help him read between the lines of the nurse's deception and he'd failed.

"I'm not omniscient, Tony," Steve defended. "I tried my best to figure out what she meant, and I missed some details. Sorry."

"Stop arguing," Parker commanded.

"Yeah," Natasha continued. "We do not need to hear about before. We need to talk about now."

"She's right," Steve admitted. "I'm sorry, but I genuinely don't know what to do in this situation. I have no idea what she might need."

"We still don't even know who she is," Clint reminded them. "Will we even be able to tell if they're not left and right anymore?"

"I think so," Steve said, not as confidently as he could have. "They may have been conjoined, but they're still two people."

One person now, Tony mentally corrected him. He knew they were all thinking that same morbid thought. Parker started to shudder in Tony's embrace. Whether it was from cold or grief, Tony couldn't tell, but nevertheless he hugged the boy just a little bit tighter. How many deaths had he endured in his months here at Gravesen? Tony only knew about Carol, but how many others had passed through this hospital and left lifeless? How many more would die before Parker recovered enough to leave this hellhole? Before any of them recovered enough to leave this hellhole?

"I know what we can do," Steve spoke up. Everyone turned their attention to him as he explained, "We can give Thanatos the rest of her Xs. I know it seems depressing, but it's a tradition that honors someone's fight. And it actually made me feel better after Carol."

"How can we do that if we don't know if it's Wanda or Pietra?" Parker questioned.

"I know," Natasha whispered, barely audible.

"What?! You know? How?" Tony asked disbelievingly.

"I am good at learning things," she said cryptically.

"What did you hear and how?" Steve inquired.

"Very early this morning I saw Strange and other surgeon go to cafeteria and I followed," she explained. "I listened. They said there will be candy conference about death of Pietra."

"A candy conference? What the hell is that?" Nick asked.

"You heard them say candy conference?" Steve clearly didn't believe her. Tony tried to imagine what phrase she could mishear as candy, but came up with nothing.

"M&M conference," Natasha corrected. "M&Ms are candy, yes?"

"Yes, but I don't think that's what they were referring to," Steve said. "M&M is a kind of conference doctors have whenever something goes wrong with a treatment or a surgery. It's short for morbidity and mortality, which just means permanent injury and death. They're going to work together to figure out what went wrong during the surgery that led to Pietra's death."

"Did they mess up?" Parker asked.

"I don't think so," Steve assured. "We all know how complicated this was, and I'm sure they did everything they could. Sometimes things just go wrong and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Amen," Nick sighed dejectedly.

"Yeah, I think we all understand that concept," Tony added.

"We need to go see Wanda," Parker remarked.

"First, the gauntlet," Steve reminded them. They filed out of Steve's room and headed for the common room, pausing to stare at the poster before them. So far, the only person to have surrendered all six aspects of her life to Death was Carol. One by one, Steve transferred the Xs from Pietra's chart, finishing with Soul. Tony, who'd never experienced losing a fellow resident before, understood what Steve meant by this being cathartic. Yes, it saddened him to watch this symbol of Pietra's life turn into a symbol of her death, but it also acknowledged the strength of their mutual foe, Death, and the strength required to endure as long as she did. Tony appreciated that they didn't simply erase the name and wait for a new resident's to be written in the same spot. That would disregard the fact that Pietra ever existed—the worst punishment one could ever inflict on a dead person. Tony remembered the poem that Parker shared for their assignment in class, the To-Be-Forgotten. A person experienced a second death when the memory of them ceased to exist in the living. Tony couldn't speak for all of his friends, but he knew that he would never forget Pietra for as long as he lived, regardless of how long that was.

Solemn but satisfied, they headed back to the nurses' station to find Heimdall seemingly awaiting them. "Did you all adjust the gauntlet?" he asked knowingly. They didn't even bother asking how he knew what they'd been up to, just nodded.

"Can we visit Wanda?" Clint asked.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea right now," Heimdall told them. "Understandably, she's having a rough time. Dr. Wilson's with her right now."

"Clinical sympathy doesn't even compare to the real thing," Steve stated blatantly.

Heimdall's eyes widened, though he didn't seem offended by Steve's challenge. "Very well. But not all of you at once. Two of you can go, the rest will have to wait. Wanda is already overwhelmed as it is."

Steve nodded and turned back to the group. Without him even having to ask, everyone told him he should go. "I don't have to," he insisted.

"You're the best at this sort of thing," Parker told him. "You and Tony should go."

Tony was shocked yet honored to hear himself suggested for this position. Even more so when a chorus of voices supported the decision. Steve and Tony accepted and set off for the Maximoffs' room…which now he supposed was just Wanda's. Steve knocked and received an invitation from what Tony recognized as Dr. Wilson's voice. He led the way in, Tony a step behind. He took in the Falcon, visibly frustrated and exhausted, and Wanda's eyes so red they almost appeared scarlet. Beyond that and the bandages wrapped around her head, she seemed alright. As alright as someone who just lost her twin sister could be.

Dr. Wilson stood to leave, but Tony didn't necessarily want him to. He was a professional, while Tony and Steve were just friends that had come to offer what comfort they could. What if she went off the deep end and they couldn't get help until it was too late? Steve interrupted his train of thought with a hesitant, "Hey," directed at Wanda. She didn't even turn to look at them. She had her gaze firmly fixed on the empty space to her right. Where Pietra had unfailingly been for the last fourteen years. Tony thought sitting down on that side would be a good idea, but Steve had other plans. He took a seat on Wanda's left and indicated for Tony to do the same. Of course, forcing her to look at them wouldn't make matters any better. They should allow her to make that choice on her own.

"We're here if you need anything," Steve said calmly.

"I asked her if maybe we were meant to be one," Wanda monotoned, almost hissing. "If we were created connected because we were meant to stay that way."

"What did she say?" Steve asked cautiously.

"She avoided the question. Just said that if I didn't want to go through with it, she wouldn't either. And now I have to go through with all of it while she can't."

"I know it sucks. And I know none of our losses can ever compare to this, but I need you to understand that you're not alone."

"Pietra and I used to say that to each other all the time. We were actually looking forward to closing a door in each other's faces for once. But we'll never be able to do that. We'll never be able to do anything we said we would once we were separated."

"You can still do some of those things," Tony pointed out. It was the wrong thing to say.

"No, I can't! Everything important we wanted, we wanted to do together. Separate but together. I don't think I can go on living without her."

"Yes, you can go on living. Because your only alternative is to die, and nobody wants that." Steve reminded her.

"I just did. Do you know how it felt?" she practically growled.

"No," Steve admitted. "But that doesn't mean I can't help you. That doesn't mean _we_ can't help you."

"What could you possibly do?"

"Exactly this. We might not be trained to listen like Dr. Wilson, but we hear you. And we've lost friends too. One of my best friends, Carol, died waiting for a heart transplant. I used to dream about giving up my heart for her."

"But you would have died," Tony remarked.

"Yes. A part of me wondered if dying was preferable to living without her."

"All of me wonders that," Wanda stated.

"And the fact of the matter is, we'll never know. Not until we die and possibly get the chance to speak to them again. So, we just have to make the life we have as good as it can possibly be. Do you think you can do that?"

"I'm not sure."

"That's okay. It doesn't have to start right now, or even a year from now. But when you're ready, think about that list of things you and Pietra made and add to it. You might not be able to do them together, but you can do them in her honor."

"It's not the same."

"Of course not. Nothing will ever be the same again. Some things will be worse, that's inevitable, but there are pieces that can still be okay, and maybe even good. It's our job to find those pieces and hold onto them with all we have."

"Okay." The smallest hint of a smile appeared on Wanda's face as she finally turned her head to look at them. Steve adjusted his position in the chair, which Wanda misinterpreted as him trying to leave. "Don't go," she called. "Both of you, don't go. I—I've never really been alone before."

Tony assured her, "We're not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you probably saw this coming from the moment the twins were introduced, or if you're familiar with the two-part episode of the Good Doctor from which I shamelessly adapted this entire plotline. All I have to say is: While you may have seen this coming, I am fairly confident that nothing else in the remainder of the story will be this predictable.


	31. The Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a bonus chapter because this one and the one after it fit in very tightly with the past few chapters and I'm overexcited because my favorite arc of the story is coming up very soon. Multiple people have requested that Vision make an appearance. As you can probably tell by the title of this chapter, there will be a Vision...more or less. Just read the chapter and you'll see :)

Tony and Steve both managed to fall asleep in their chairs beside Wanda's bed. Though they awoke with aching backs, neither could find it in himself to regret it. However, they'd remained here long enough for Steve to miss a vest treatment. For a while, Tony had thought he did them with such regularity just because he was anal, but he could practically hear the increased congestion in Steve's breathing from just one missed treatment.

"Go," Tony told him. "I'll stay with her so she's not alone."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "I can stay if you want to take a break. A little longer won't kill me."

"No, but it'll make you more miserable than necessary. I'll be fine. Go hack up your mucus."

"Way to put it bluntly," Steve remarked.

"Hey, I call it like it is."

"Can't fault you for that." With that, Steve headed back to his room, leaving Tony alone with a still-sleeping Wanda. He remained there for another half hour before she began to stir. He observed the exact moment she reminded herself that Pietra wasn't there anymore, and he felt his heart clench in sympathy. Fortunately, his heart didn't actually act up—though he'd constantly feared it might since he first heard the devastating wail.

"I keep hoping it will turn out to be a dream," Wanda remarked glumly. "Every time I go to sleep, I hope to wake up and find her here where she belongs. But it's not a dream, is it?"

"No," Tony admitted. "It's not a dream, Wanda. I'm sorry."

"I should know it's not a dream. My whole life, I've never had a dream without Pietra in it. Every waking moment she was next to me, and every sleeping moment she was there too. Even my subconscious never considered what it would be like without her."

Tony didn't know what to say to that. He, nor anyone else on earth, had ever experienced a comparable loss. Nobody had any hope of completely empathizing with Wanda, unless they managed to find another former conjoined twin who lost their sibling. Tony doubted those were easy to find.

"I'm gonna be honest, Wanda, I'm completely out of my element here. I wish I could be of more help. Steve's usually the pep talk guy around here."

"It's okay. I'm not sure even he would know what to say. Only Pietra would know."

"And what do you think she'd say?" Tony asked.

"If our roles were reversed, I'd tell her she'd better not waste her independence on mourning me. I like to think she'd say the same thing to me."

"I think that's pretty sound advice."

"She'd also say, 'don't you dare forget me.'"

"I don't think that something you'll ever need to worry about."

"Yeah. I won't be able to forget because I'll see her every time I look in a mirror. And Mama and Papa won't be able to forget because they'll see her every time they look at me.

"You should call your parents," Tony suggested. "I'll bet they're worried sick about you."

"I don't know if I will be able to say a word without crying."

"That's okay. They probably feel the same way. But coming together as a family is one of the only things you can do at a time like this." At least, that's what Tony had heard. He'd never really experienced a devastating loss, at least not one he could remember. All his grandparents had died before he was old enough to understand what that meant.

"What time is it?" Wanda asked. Tony informed her, and she nodded slowly. "I can call my parents."

"Alright. I'm going to step out, but if you need any of us you know where to find us, okay?"

"Okay," she sighed. Tony exited the room and headed for the common room, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts right now. Natasha, Thor, and Nick were sitting in palpable silence.

"How is Wanda?" Natasha asked earnestly.

"She's…calling her parents right now," Tony answered, unwilling to comment on her mental state.

"That's…good," Thor responded. Tony could tell by the strain behind his eyes and the stiffness in his movements that he'd recently seized. The stress of this situation would certainly be enough to cause a reaction like that. Tony was genuinely surprised that his defibrillator hadn't fired.

"Yeah. Things are going to be pretty different for the three of them from now on," Tony said. He didn't really know how to react in this situation beyond what he'd already done. He hadn't been here when Carol passed, the most recent Gravesen resident to die before Pietra, so he had no idea what to expect of his peers or what was expected of him.

"Man, this sucks," Nick said exasperatedly.

"I wish we could do more to help her," Natasha sighed.

"Me too," Tony said. "Me too."

~0~

Mere minutes after she hung up with her mother, the door to Wanda's room opened slowly, as if whoever twisted the knob feared an object would be hurled at their head and wanted to allow ample time to duck. She quickly swiped her forearm across her eyes to mop up the tears that had escaped while listening to her mother wail over the phone. Though they'd already known about Pietra, Wanda felt as guilty as if she'd been the one to break the news and in doing so break their hearts. When she recognized the cautious visitor, Wanda rather thought she would have thrown something had there been anything in her vicinity to throw. It was Dr. Strange.

He entered hesitantly, a coagulated mixture of poorly concealed guilt and pity displayed in his expression and body language. During the lead-up to the surgery, he'd exhibited nothing but suave confidence and unbridled enthusiasm for their unique case. He'd been downright gleeful to observe their scans and talk about everything he'd need to do to turn them into two fully individual people. Evidently, that confidence was unfounded. He failed. By the looks of it, Wanda didn't think he'd ever done that before.

Just her luck that she happened to be his first failure.

Actually, she wasn't. Pietra was his first failure; Wanda was technically a success. At least, Strange would certainly play it off like that. She didn't feel much like a success story and suspected she would probably lash out if someone tried to identify her as such.

Strange froze halfway between her and the door, trying to meet her eye and gauge her awareness and attitude towards his presence. She knew he'd have to conduct several follow-up visits, but she hadn't taken the time to consider how she might feel upon seeing him again after he manslaughtered her sister. Wanda expected rage and wrath to boil up within her and explode out of the wound in the side of her head, but instead she encountered only fear. He clasped his hands together and Wanda stared at them, lithe but strong like a musician's hands. Those hands held the instruments that sliced her apart from Pietra, and the instruments that had failed to fix whatever went wrong with Wanda's other half. She stopped looking at them, and Strange stepped closer, even daring to speak up. "Hello Wanda."

"Hi," she said cautiously. She knew what was coming, that those same hands must approach her head in the near future to ensure she wasn't headed the same way as Pietra. That didn't mean she was prepared to passively allow it. She kept still as he approached another foot and a half or so.

"I offer my sincerest condolences for the loss of your sister." It sounded like something out of a script. Wanda suspected it was. "Believe me when I say we tried everything. Unfortunately, there was nothing more we could do."

She believed him. But believing and trusting were two entirely different concepts. He asked her permission to examine the separation site, and she vaguely remembered nodding in assent. She closed her eyes and closed her right hand, half expecting Pietra's fingers to entwine with her own as they'd done unfailingly any time she felt distress. Instead, she clutched only empty air.

Strange quietly muttered to himself as he looked over his handiwork. She caught some familiar words like "mom" and "door" and flashes of other words that sounded like complete gibberish, though the pacing of his speech suggested a conversation with someone. Who he would be talking to, she had no idea, because his comments certainly weren't directed at her. Once done with his ministrations, he turned and fled the room without another word, and Wanda was once again alone—a state she was quickly learning how much she loathed.

~0~

Over the next few days, Wanda recovered physically from the separation surgery. Mentally, on the other hand, she struggled as much as one would expect, maybe even more. She requested the nurses cover every mirror on the ward after she saw her reflection for the first time and broke down scream-sobbing. Nobody knew quite what to say when they saw her around, least of all Tony. She'd been receptive to the advice he and Steve offered at the very beginning, but he couldn't come up with anything more worthwhile to say.

He found himself sitting in his own bed, staring down his stuffed animals lined up at the foot. Jarvis, Dum-E, and Butterfingers stared back with lifeless eyes that still somehow brought him comfort. What was it about an animal-shaped fur sack stuffed with fiberfill that could provide security? Possibly it was just the sentimental attachment to the story behind them.

Dum-E the elephant and Butterfingers the monkey were both birthday presents from his mother, given to him when he was very young. He remembered her handing them to him after birthday dinners for which his father failed to make it home in time. Jarvis had been a gift from his father's former butler Edwin Jarvis when Tony was five. Tony had named the bear after him because his employment was the only time he recalled having any sort of father figure that wanted anything to do with him. His father busied himself with work so much that Tony rarely saw him. When he did, Tony's gaze of admiration and hope was met only with apathy and a hint of disappointment. After Edwin Jarvis left his father's staff when Tony was thirteen, he turned to the bear to remind him of that security.

Maybe Wanda needed something similar, something to tell her she wasn't alone despite the loss of her closest companion. An idea popped into his head and Tony immediately decided to act. He grabbed Jarvis by the paw and set off for Wanda's room. He held the bear behind his back as he entered, wanting it to be a surprise.

"What are you hiding?" she asked, eying him suspiciously.

"I wanted to give you something," Tony explained. He presented the bear, waiting for any sort of reaction from Wanda. She simply stared at it for several moments, seemingly unsure what to make of a teenage boy gifting her a teddy bear.

"A teddy bear?"

"Yes. This is Jarvis." Tony placed the bear in Wanda's hands and watched her run her fingers through its fur. "My dad's butler, who was kind of like a second father to me, gave him to me when I was little and I've had him ever since. He's there whenever I'm upset or afraid, which is embarrassingly often for someone my age."

"There's nothing embarrassing about that," she assured him. "But why would you give him away if he's so important to you?"

"He was given to me so I'd always know someone out there cared about me. I want to do the same thing, give him to you so you know that no matter how lonely things seem, there's always somebody there."

"Tony, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just promise me you'll take good care of him."

"Oh, of course. What did you say his name was?"

"Jarvis. But I won't mind if you change it. It's meant to be yours now."

"Change his name? I don't know."

Tony smiled. He thought it would be a fitting symbol of the transition in Jarvis—and Tony's—lives. "Yeah, you should change it."

"I don't know what to choose."

"Well, I named him after the man who gave it to me."

"I'm not calling him Tony," Wanda said immediately.

"No, I wasn't suggesting that. Honestly, it would be a little weird. I just mean that I named him after what I wanted him to remind me of, if that makes any sense. So, what do you want this bear to remind you of?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I certainly don't know."

"Give me an idea," she instructed.

"Ummm…" Tony didn't know what to say. He blurted out the first thing to come to mind, "The future? Nevermind, that doesn't really make sense."

"No it's not. Tell me more."

"Well I know it's really hard to think about adjusting to your life this way—also I want to say again that I'm so sorry Wanda and I hate that things like this have to happen sometimes—"

"It's okay," she assured him. "Thank you."

"Maybe this bear can remind you that, despite what you lost, there's always more out there for you. Always new things to see."

"I like that. Not sure how I would condense it into a name for a stuffed bear, though."

"You'll come up with something," Tony told her. "Just try to do it before you get to go home, so that you can tell me, okay?"

"Okay."

The evening after that conversation, a thought occurred to him. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thought which plagued him all night long. Man, he really hoped this same thought didn't occur to Wanda. He knew she would return to Sokovia soon, no longer in need of the medical attention and expertise provided by Gravesen. But…would Pietra go with her? Tony knew nothing of Sokovian funeral tradition, but he did know that Pietra's body, likely located in the hospital's morgue as of now, would need to end up somewhere.

How would they go about sending her home?

To die in a foreign country, oceans away from home and everything she knew, must have been horrible for Pietra. It certainly presented logistical challenges for her surviving family members. Tony couldn't help but picture the Maximoffs picking up Wanda from the airport and waiting for a coffin on the luggage carousel. He knew it wouldn't play out exactly like that, but the principle still terrified him. Though he and the other Gravesen residents had grown close to the Twins, none of them would be able to attend the funeral, which inevitably would be held back in Sokovia where all of their family could attend to commiserate. If funerals were so necessary for closure, how would he and his friends stuck here ever achieve it?

~0~

Only a few days later, Wanda's surgeons cleared her to fly back home and do any further follow-ups with her doctors in Sokovia. Saying goodbye to her challenged all of the other Gravesen residents. In the short time she'd been here, she'd forged a place for herself within their friend circle. Having that room become empty again would be a dramatic adjustment for all of them.

She saved her farewell to Steve and Tony for last. "Thank you both so much for everything," she said earnestly.

"You don't have to thank us," Steve told her. "We're your friends, which means we're here for you no matter what. If you ever find yourself back in the area, please pop by for a visit. Hopefully, most of us will be out of here by then and we can do something a little more fun than sharing unfulfilled hopes and dreams."

"I hope so too." She turned to Tony and he looked back at her expectantly. "I named the bear."

"What did you choose?"

"Vision," she stated.

"I like it," Tony said with a grin. Knowing the bear had a new name helped him let go. In the past few days, he realized how much he missed the bear's presence at the foot of his bed. It would take some getting used to, but he knew he'd made the right decision in giving Jarvis—Vision, now, he reminded himself—to Wanda. They exchanged hugs and Wanda headed out, finally free of Gravesen. Steve and Tony turned to each other and set off for the common room and the gauntlet on the wall. They moved all of Wanda's Xs back to the self column, affirming she was free of any sign of illness. It was a stark contrast, her name next to Pietra's, who had surrendered everything to Thanatos. Tony loathed Death for robbing Wanda of her sister, but by sparing one of them Thanatos had proven he was capable of restraint. Tony could only hope the scales tipped further in the direction of life; he didn't think he could handle any more loss.

~0~

The day Pietra died, they cancelled schooling sessions indefinitely. Tony gathered from those who had been here when Carol passed that this was typical. Whenever the residents lost a fighter, they were offered a reprieve from education to give them time to grieve and come to terms with the loss. Tony almost would have preferred going to school, because it would have provided him with ninety minutes where he was forced to think about something other than Pietra and Wanda.

Once Wanda left, he expected things to feel more normal, but all he felt was the gaping chasm that she and Pietra had left behind. Instead of reinstating school immediately after Wanda's departure, they replaced it with a group session led by the Falcon. Both age groups were combined into one to give everyone a chance to share and hear each others' thoughts.

"Now I know it's been a rough few days for all of you," Dr. Wilson began his classic shrink speech, "But the important part is that we're in this together. It's okay to be sad, or mad, or any sort of feeling above, below, or in between, but keeping those feelings bottled up inside never helps anyone. Here is a safe space you can share all of that and help each other." Tony glanced around the room at his equally somber classmates, wondering who would be brave enough to speak up first.

"It makes me scared of surgery," Clint admitted sheepishly, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him instead of Dr. Wilson or anyone else in the room.

"Surgery is always scary," Natasha added.

"Yeah, but now I've seen it kill a person."

"It's perfectly reasonable to be scared, especially after what happened, but you have to remember that Wanda and Pietra's case was one of a kind, and so was their surgery. The surgeons did everything they could, but some things are just too complicated for even the best to figure out."

"So we're safe just because we're normal?" Nick questioned.

"As normal as sick kids can be, I guess," Bucky said.

"Well, everything comes with risks," the Falcon reminded them. Tony knew he would never affirm that they're all safe from surgical death—or any kind of death. That would be lying. Psychiatrists didn't lie. "But that risk was particularly high in the Maximoffs' case. I can assure you that most procedures conducted here have much lower chances of fatality."

"Well that's reassuring," Tony muttered under his breath. If things proceeded as planned as far as his own treatment was concerned, he'd undergo one of the most notoriously complicated surgeries in existence. What could possibly go wrong with ripping his heart out of his chest and replacing it with one from someone recently deceased? At least he wouldn't leave a twin behind if he died on the table.

Steve spoke up next, "Obviously the whole situation is terrible, but what gets to me the most is the fact that Pietra died so far from home, and her parents never got the chance to say goodbye. I hate to think about how they must be feeling, especially since I know there are other parents forced to send their children here without being able to follow." He glanced solemnly to Thor and Natasha, knowing their families did just that. Tony blanched upon considering how devastated they'd be if—heaven forbid—their child died suddenly in a foreign country, far away from their comfort and love.

"That's a very good point, Steve," Falcon said. "Nothing I say can change that fact, but I can assure you that Wanda made it home safely and is with her family. That's the best place any of them can be right now, together."

"And Pietra?" Tony asked, unable to cope with not knowing any longer. He figured her remains would have been sent home, but he needed to know for sure.

Dr. Wilson understood his implied question and responded, "Yes, her family has her now."

Tony nodded curtly, "That's good." Knowing the answer to that burning question helped ease the aching in his chest.

"I just hope Wanda will find her way," Thor said. "Losing a sibling sounds like it's just about the worst thing in the world."

Watching Wanda lose a sibling was hard enough; Tony didn't want to consider how he would react if it was his own sister or brother. He didn't even know what it was like to have a sibling, much less lose one. If Thor was right, and it was just about the worst thing in the world, Tony hoped he never experienced anything comparable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, probably not the Vision you were expecting...but teddy bear Vision is something I didn't know I wanted until I wrote him in. Anyone feel the same, or are you just mad at me for crushing any hopes of a romantic subplot?


	32. Stranger Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel Preview #2: "Plokhaya Krov." I wrote Natasha's prequel in the notes app on my phone on the car ride to and from my grandparents' house one weekend. It's heavily inspired by her vision from Age of Ultron, since that's just about the only 'past Natasha' material I have to work with since the Black Widow movie hasn't come out yet. Once I knew where I was going the story practically wrote itself. I did a lot of research and came to the conclusion that leukemia is actually the worst. Seriously, I couldn't make some of this shit up if I tried.
> 
> Anyway, here's the summary: "Before Gravesen, Natasha's primary concerns were breaking in new pointe shoes and internalizing Uchitel's endless corrections. Two words changed all that. Plokhaya krov. Bad blood."
> 
> Some highlights: dizzying turn sequences, Liho, the occasional section written from Gravesen staff POV, and the unexpected but endearing relationship that is Natasha Romanoff & Happy Hogan

No one at Gravesen felt the loss of Pietra more profoundly than Dr. Strange. The nearly manic energy he'd emitted before the surgery dissipated like a shockwave after an explosion, leaving him moping the hallways with his head down instead of raised up to glare at the other doctors he considered inferior. Pietra was the first patient to die on his table, beneath his expertly-wielded scalpel. Tony wondered if all surgeons reacted like this at their first failure.

The first sign of impending doom: the Ancient One was late to school. They restarted lessons the week after Wanda departed for Sokovia, though they all questioned whether they'd gotten the start date right when their instructor failed to show up within the first five minutes of class. She was always early, without fail, writing notes on the chalkboard long before the students entered.

"If she's not here in ten minutes, we're legally allowed to leave," Quill remarked.

"That's an urban legend," Tony told him.

"No it's not!"

"If she doesn't show up, I suppose we can leave. They know exactly where to find us and can drag us back to school," Steve said.

"Not if we make a break for it," Thor quipped.

"You might be able to give them a decent run for their money, but some of us would be easier to catch than an escaped sloth," Steve pointed out.

"Sorry I'm late." The Ancient One stormed into the room, looking flustered. Tony wondered what could possibly stress out a retired neurosurgeon whose only current responsibility was teaching bored kids about the Battle of Little Bighorn and the overt symbolism in the Catcher in the Rye. They watched her make her way to the front of the classroom and hurriedly start writing the lesson on the board.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" Steve asked. Of course he would be the first to verbalize what they were all thinking. Tony feared he'd get his head bitten off if he asked the Ancient One a question out of turn, but evidently Steve didn't share those reservations.

"Yes, of course," she insisted. Nobody believed her. However, they were denied any further opportunity to express their disbelief as she began plowing through the lesson with even more force than usual. She concluded class early, practically shoving them out the door and diving for her phone to frantically answer text messages.

"What the hell is going on with her?" Tony wondered aloud.

"I've never seen her like that before," Steve added with a solemn shake of his head.

"We're all doing okay, so who would she be freaking out about?" Thor questioned. "Unless one of the younger kids fell ill just before we went to school?"

"I hope not," Tony stated. It was still ten minutes until the other kids' lesson was due to start, so they traveled the ward searching to account for all of them. They found Clint and Natasha in the common room, Parker and Nick in their respective rooms, and all appeared no sicker than usual, certainly nothing warranting panic on the Ancient One's part.

"Did we get a new patient today?" Bucky asked. "Somebody worse off than any of us?"

"None of the empty rooms look like they've had any activity, so I don't think so," Tony commented. "And I find it hard to believe that she would be that distressed over someone she doesn't know."

"The new patient could be someone she does know," Bucky pointed out. "Does she have any kids?"

"No," Steve stated. "She's never even been married."

"How do you know that?" Quill asked.

"She told my class years ago, when I was in the younger section. I don't know how we got on the subject, but she told us about her family—or lack thereof, I suppose. Her career as a neurosurgeon didn't leave her much time for anything else, she said. She wanted to conserve all her energy for helping patients instead of starting a family."

"That's rather noble of her, I guess," Thor said.

"We're still no closer to figuring out what's going on," Tony reminded them.

"Maybe it's nothing. Maybe she hit bad traffic on the way to the hospital this morning," Quill suggested.

"New York traffic is distressing, but not _that_ distressing," Bucky assured.

"Depends on the time of day," Tony retorted with a smirk.

"If she's not back to normal by tomorrow, we should ask around," Steve suggested. "Our teacher having one bad day does not necessarily spell imminent crisis for us or for the hospital."

~0~

She wasn't exactly back to normal by the next day, but definitely far better. Tony observed something haunted in her normally piercing gaze, and her laser focus was obviously forced when usually it came naturally to her. They didn't discuss her mental state any more, having gained no new evidence for a potential cause of this behavior. Tony wanted to investigate, but Natasha beat him to it. He caught her sneaking off the ward when all the nurses were occupied.

"Where are you going?" he asked urgently.

"To learn things," she told him.

"Can I come?"

She looked at him doubtfully and cocked her head. "You know how to listen?"

"I think so."

"Really listen?"

"Yeah," he assured her.

She still didn't seem entirely convinced, but she beckoned for him to follow her. "Stay quiet and look like you belong." They set off, Natasha striding with a confidence that ensured nobody who noticed them questioned where they were going. Tony attempted to embody that, though he suspected had he been alone he would've been interrogated immediately. Where did Nat learn to infiltrate like this? Or did it come naturally?

She brought them to a stop in the hallway where most of the head doctors had their offices. Tony almost ran into her back, but he caught sight of her hand held up to halt him just in time. The door to Dr. Erskine's office opened and he stepped out. Natasha whipped around to face Tony and started talking. Tony didn't register what she way saying; he was too afraid of getting caught and sent back to their ward. Dr. Erskine glanced their direction, but upon observing Natasha's intent speech, he turned and walked away.

"How'd you do that?" Tony whispered in shock. He'd been sure they were goners.

"I told you. If you look like you belong nobody will think you do not. If you look guilty like you do they will be suspicious."

"I'll be sure to remember that if I ever find myself on the run," Tony remarked, earning a quick smile from Natasha before she got back to business. No more doctors appeared, so they made their way up to Strange's door and pressed their ears against it. Tony heard nothing. Neither did Natasha.

"He must be in the OR," Tony said. Natasha nodded and advanced a few doors to Dr. Lee's office.

"Superheroes in New York? Give me a break," they heard him scoff.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Tony questioned.

"I do not know. But I do know it is not Strange," she replied. Tony was fully prepared to forfeit this little spy mission and go back before they inevitably got caught, but a noise from the Falcon's office stopped him before he could suggest returning.

"You've ruined me!" A shout of desperation, terror, and fury all rolled into one gut-wrenching combination. Tony and Nat met eyes, both instantly recognizing the speaker. Strange. They dashed over to Dr. Wilson's door and crouched on either side of the door jamb, pressing their ears to the door to ensure they didn't miss a word of the ensuing conversation.

"Stephen, do not engage with it. You know that only makes it worse," the Falcon's usually steady voice quivered with a hint of doubt and fear. Tony now understood why the Ancient One had been so distraught; if Dr. Strange was consulting their resident Chief of Psychiatry, something was seriously amiss.

"Yes, I know, but I just want him gone. I lost him once, I can do it again," Strange insisted. Who the hell was he talking about?

"We never lose our demons. We only learn to live above them."

"I did learn, and now all that progress is gone."

"You can learn again."

"I don't want to."

"What do you think I tell the pediatric oncology patients when they start crying to me that one more chemo dose might break them? Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do in order to get better," Dr. Wilson stated. Tony couldn't help but glance to Natasha at this comment. He wondered how many of the cancer kids he knew had said something along those lines to the Falcon. A long silence ensued before Strange spoke again.

"Very well. But I won't be able to work until I've balanced my medications and achieved remission again." There was that word again: remission. Tony was fairly certain Strange wasn't referring to cancer now, but he still didn't know exactly what condition he was indicating.

"Of course."

"And I don't want to show my face here until all that's over."

"Why not?"

"You of all people, Dr. Wilson, should understand the stigma around mental illness. I don't need every other doctor here to know that losing one patient made me go completely bonkers." Finally, Tony started to piece together the clues. Strange shouting at something Dr. Wilson told him not to. Balancing medications. Mental illness. Tony was no expert, but he was fairly certain that list aligned pretty closely with schizophrenia.

"I'm sorry, but such terminology is not allowed in my office."

"Oh, you're one of those shrinks who doesn't like the word crazy, aren't you?"

"I believe all of us are of the same mindset. I'm not unique in my refusal to utilize such crass language."

"It's hardly crass, it's the truth," Strange spat with a wry chuckle.

"Stephen." Dr. Wilson's tone brokered no argument.

"My apologies. Sometimes it's rather difficult not to resort to the medieval belief that I'm possessed by the Devil."

"I understand. Where will you go, if you need to be away from here?"

"I was hoping you knew of a place."

"As a matter of fact I do, though I'm not sure how you'll feel about the location. Do you have a passport?"

"Of course I have a passport."

"It's in Kathmandu."

"You're sending me all the way to the Himalayas to get my head screwed on straight?"

"I'm not sending you anywhere. You asked if I knew a place. That is the best place I know."

"Really? Nowhere more…Western?" Strange still sounded doubtful.

"There are plenty of places here in this country, but you asked my recommendation. A change of scenery can be very helpful, and this facility has a better track record than any here in the States."

"It feels like you're sending me away to Hogwarts."

"I assure you there is no wizardry involved."

"Pity."

"Pym in physical therapy does know an excellent website for learning close up magic."

"I'll have to look into it. Thank you." A chair scraped across the floor, and Natasha grabbed Tony by the wrist and dragged them away. Strange would be leaving Wilson's office any second now, and if he saw them in the hallway he'd know they were eavesdropping. They made it around the corner just as they heard the door close. "Dormammu, I've come to bargain," he muttered to himself as he started down the hall. Panting, Tony and Natasha listened to his footsteps recede until they couldn't hear them anymore.

"What was all that?" Natasha questioned. She'd heard everything Tony had, though it must have been harder for her to understand everything they were staying. He still wasn't sure he understood all of it.

"I think…Pietra's death caused a reappearance of Strange's schizophrenia symptoms," Tony surmised.

"Schizophrenia?"

"It's a mental illness that causes hallucinations. I might be wrong, but that's what it sounds like."

"So Strange is leaving for treatment?" Natasha asked.

"Yep. Sounds like he's going to Nepal."

"Do we tell our friends?"

"They're going to suspect we know something."

"So yes?"

"I mean, we can't not tell them. Although I don't think this is supposed to be public knowledge. If Strange finds out that we all know he's going to be mad."

"But he is leaving."

"I guess you're right. Let's head back."

Steve didn't hesitate—he knew exactly what Natasha had been up to, though he seemed surprised to see Tony sneaking back onto the ward alongside her. "Had a little adventure, did we?" he asked knowingly.

"We know what's up with the Ancient One," Tony informed him.

"Yeah? How'd you find out?"

"We overheard Dr. Strange talking to the Falcon in his office."

"Why would Strange be talking to the Falcon?"

"I think he has schizophrenia."

"What? And he'd been operating on people this whole time?!"

"No, no, he's been in remission. That's what he said to the Ancient One on that first day, remember? It wasn't cancer remission. But losing Pietra somehow made it come back and now he's hallucinating again."

"What's he going to do?"

"He's going to some facility in Nepal that the Falcon recommended."

"Nepal? But that's so far."

"He said he didn't want all the doctors here to know what happened to him."

"So how's he going to explain suddenly running away to Nepal?"

Tony hadn't considered that aspect before, and admitted, "I don't know."

~0~

"What's a sabbatical?" Thor asked. In class, the Ancient One took it upon herself to inform them that she'd be cancelling class tomorrow because she would be helping Dr. Strange pack up his things at the hospital. She explained he was taking a sabbatical in Nepal.

"It's kind of like a working vacation."

So that's the story Dr. Strange had arranged to spread around the hospital. Although the truth of the matter had rapidly spread among the Gravesen kids, none of them dared to question the Ancient One's justification for Dr. Strange's imminent departure. Tony just hoped that this 'sabbatical' achieved what it was supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In my first draft of this story, Stephen Strange was a fellow patient who suffered from schizophrenia, but I genuinely didn't know what to do with him or how he would contribute to the story in that role. So, I scratched that and reinserted him into the story like this and I'm very pleased with how it turned out.


	33. The Parker Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go. Funnily enough, this is actually one of the first chapters I wrote. I wrote from this chapter to the end of the story, and then went back and filled in most of the stuff in the middle knowing I had to get to this point. Also, I should warn you that things get pretty intense medicine-wise and emotion-wise from here on out. I go pretty far with some ethical issues and describe some medical procedures in the most vivid detail in the coming chapters. Nothing bloody or graphic, but it's intense enough that I feel the need to add a warning. With that said, I hope you enjoy whatever is about to unfold...

The common room was rarely this quiet, at least as far as Tony had witnessed. Anyone who ventured in here felt well enough not to remain holed up in bed, and therefore there was almost always a movie, a conversation, or a cutthroat game of Catan in progress. Today Tony, Steve, and Thor were the sole occupants, but they hadn't initiated any of those activities. Tony had come here hoping the company would divert his attention from the shortness of breath and general malaise that had been gradually worsening since the chitauri outbreak and had struck him particularly hard today. He found himself mildly disappointed in Steve and Thor's ability to provide distraction.

Their relative silence was broken by the door slamming against the wall as it was opened frantically. All three boys instantly sat up straighter and turned to see who had entered with such force. Natasha, face red and blotchy with tears, sprinted in and dove into Steve's arms. He embraced her, but her cries only increased in intensity. "Shhh," Steve tried to calm her, even rocking the small girl back and forth in his lap. Tony watched in awe as he handled her with the calmness of an experienced father, despite being only four years her senior. Her sobs soon turned to hiccups, and she gently pushed herself up from resting on Steve's chest to face him. "What's wrong Nat?" he asked soothingly.

The tears continued to fall, but she'd caught enough of her breath to give a coherent answer, "Parker!"

"What about him?" Tony asked. Of course, in their living situation, his brain immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. Natasha's room was right next to his, so she knew all of the comings and goings in Parker's.

"On krichit i boretsya! Pokhozhe oni prichinyayut yemu bol!" she explained in rapid, panicked Russian. Steve took a deep breath and rubbed his hand gently across her back to calm her down.

"Nat, English please. I know you're upset, but we can't understand you," Steve coaxed.

"I-I hear ev-everything," she choked out, hugging Steve a little tighter. In her distress, her grasp on English grammar weakened considerably and her accent thickened to a point where Tony could barely understand her.

"What did you hear?" Steve inquired.

"He—He scream. And—and fight them. I—I want to go and m-make them stop b-because it sounds like they hurt him!"

"Who?"

"Nurses!" she exclaimed.

"Why would they want to hurt Parker?" Tony questioned. Nothing about Nat's story made much sense, but something must've happened to make her react like this. Natasha never cried. _Never_. So for her to be acting like this meant she must've endured something awful.

"Nat, do you know what the nurses were trying to do?" Steve asked.

"No. B-but I saw them go in his room, and th-then shouting started."

"Well, I think we should find out what happened and then see if there's anything we can do to help Parker," Steve suggested. Nat nodded, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand and forcing her shoulders back and her head up. She eased her way off Steve's lap and stood at the door, waiting for the three older boys to follow her. They made straight for the nurses' station, currently occupied only by Peggy. Natasha marched up, the other three just behind her, and outright demanded to know what was going on.

"What did you do to Parker?" she asked accusingly. "Why was he screaming? Are you not supposed to make people feel better?"

Peggy blanched. The color drained from her face faster than Thor could hit the ground before a seizure. "Natasha, Parker is very sick."

"We know that," Steve cut in. "And we know that not every treatment in this hospital is pleasant—believe us, we _know_ that—but Natasha ran up to us _crying_ because of what she heard. We just need to know what's going on and if he's okay." At Steve's explanation, Peggy paled another shade and looked pityingly to Natasha, whose eyes burned with righteousness.

"You all know it is not my place to discuss a patient's treatment with anyone other than his family."

"And you know that Parker has no family but us," Natasha countered. She gave Peggy her best triumphant glare and the nurse relented.

"Remember that we're only trying to help. That's all we ever do for you all," Peggy began. "But sometimes, when patients are sick physically and mentally, they can't recognize that we're trying to help them. That was the case for Parker today. He's been losing weight since Pietra," here she paused, glancing briefly to the ceiling as if praying for God to help the poor boy, "And his doctors prescribed refeeding via nasogastric tube. If we can't get him to eat, it's the only option to get him nutrition. But he fought the tube. That's what you heard, Natasha. I'm sorry that they had to do it, but Parker's body needs fuel and he's not giving it what it needs."

"Can we see him?" Tony asked.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said. She turned back to her work, effectively dismissing them.

~0~

Tony couldn't sleep that night. His thoughts settled on Parker and refused to migrate to any more soporific topics. God, that poor kid. Thirteen years old, and he was so close to killing himself. Tony couldn't imagine having a mind so sick it actively shunned food to the point of starving itself to death. To eat was one of the most basic instincts of all creatures that relied on food for energy. To deny that instinct was unthinkable. But Parker did. He denied it for so long that he bullied it into nonexistence, transformed it into an undeniable reflex to refuse food. It was horrible.

A quiet knock at his door roused him. Tony sat up blearily and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and made his way to the door on socked feet. He opened it and found Natasha in her pajamas, hugging her stuffed black cat to her chest and sniffling. Tony crouched so he could look her in the eye and asked what was wrong.

"Parker. I can hear him cry," Natasha said.

"Oh, Nat." Tony pulled her into a hug and silently closed the door behind them. He brought her to his bed and sat down beside her, wrapping a brotherly arm around her shoulders.

"He cried all night, and I want to see him and make him feel better, but Peggy said we cannot see him today, and I do not want trouble."

"I don't want you to get in trouble either. And I think Peggy knows what she's talking about. If she says we shouldn't visit Parker, then that means visiting him would be a bad thing, probably for all of us. We should listen to her." Tony said this not because he entirely believed it, but because he had a stinking suspicion of what had been done to Parker to ensure the tube stayed in and he didn't want visual proof of something so horrific.

"I just cannot listen to him suffer more," she said quietly. "He must be so scared."

"I know," Tony sighed. "But no one here would ever do anything to him that wasn't for his own good. No one here ever does anything to anyone that isn't for their own good. It might be hard at first, but once it's over you can look back and realize that everything they ever did was only to help you get better."

"Like chemo," she said solemnly. "It hurts, but it helps."

"Yeah, just like chemo," Tony echoed.

"Will you come if they say we can visit him tomorrow?"

"Of course I'll come." Though he dreaded what he might find in that room.

~0~

Natasha and Tony fell asleep curled up horizontally across his bed. When they awoke that morning, they went next door to Steve's and asked him to join them as they approached the nurses and asked if they could visit Parker. He attached his oxygen to the IV pole and towed it behind him as they set off. They tried Thor's door too, but he was still sleeping and therefore didn't answer. Tony let Nat take the lead, as she was clearly the most determined to see their friend. Peggy saw them coming and smiled a sad sort of smile.

"Yes, you can go see Parker," she said in response to Natasha's polite question. "But go easy on him; he's had a rough time of it lately. Happy's with him now."

"Yes. Thank you," she said. Tony and Steve nodded their thanks and followed Natasha back to Parker's room. She knocked almost inaudibly, but Happy must have heard because he called, "It's open." Natasha eased the door open and the three entered the room cautiously, somewhat afraid of what they might find.

Parker looked far paler than he usually did, and his eyes were swollen, likely from crying throughout the night. His right cheek was mostly obscured by tape securing the tube to his face. Tony glanced up and saw the bag of formula hanging above the bed. He looked back at Parker and noticed the IV line taped down among dark bruises that littered his forearms and wrists—wrists encased in soft blue cuffs that secured him to the bed. Steve clearly noticed this too, and Tony felt him tense up in rage. He glanced to Happy, who looked back at them solemnly. Tony could tell he was more worried than he'd ever been. Parker had been doing well, as far as Tony knew, but the loss of Pietra must've been too much for him.

"Hey Parker," Tony started. He considered asking a traditional 'how are you,' but figured the question was both unnecessary and possibly offensive given the circumstances. "We just wanted to stop by and let you know we're thinking of you," he decided to say instead. Parker closed his eyes and forced a deep inhale, followed by a long, fluttering exhale. Tony looked to Steve for one of his nice fatherly pick-me-ups, but the other boy offered nothing. He silently seethed, muscles taut with frustration and ire. Tony feared he might do something rash in this state, so he edged himself closer to Steve in order to reach him quickly if he lunged at something.

"Is there anything we can do?" Natasha asked hesitantly.

"Take it out," Parker whimpered, banging his head against the pillow in discomfort.

"We cannot do that."

"Get it out," he repeated, less meek and more punctuated this time. Happy tensed, ready to intervene if things escalated.

"Parker," Tony began steadily, remembering the boy's love of biology and trying to draw on that as a way to distract him. "You are a smart kid. You know how cells work, what processes are constantly in action, and what is necessary to drive those processes. Tell me, how do cells make energy?"

"Cellular respiration," Parker spouted off the information with barely a pause to think.

"Very good," Tony said. "And what does cellular respiration break down? What molecule?"

"Glucose."

"And where do we get glucose?"

"From breaking down complex sugars like glycogen and starch."

"And where do we get complex sugars?"

"Food." Parker spat out that word like it was poison in his mouth.

"Yes. Food," Tony said, putting as much of a positive tone on the word as he could manage. Parker fidgeted, attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position, a difficult task given the restricted range of motion of his arms.

"I still want it out," he practically growled.

"But you know it needs to stay in," Tony reminded him.

"I told them I could do better. I promised to prove I could be better, but they wouldn't listen!" the despair in his voice climbed several notches with each word that escaped his lips. "They wouldn't even give me a chance. I told them I didn't want it, that I can't stand it, but they still wouldn't listen!"

"Parker," Happy said softly. "You know we did give you a chance. We're listening to you, but first and foremost we need to listen to your body's needs."

Steve looked ready to pounce on something, but Tony didn't see any potential targets in the room besides Happy. Tony understood it was necessary, that Parker had failed to reach the proper milestones and that he needed this to survive, but he could see why Steve was ready to kill. It didn't seem right to treat a kid like this. But desperate times called for desperate measures, they said, and he'd rather Parker suffer this and survive than get his way and die.

"You think I want it when they put port needle in and attach my chemo?" Nat asked. Parker remained silent. "Parker, you think I want it?" she repeated, more sternly. He shook his head weakly. "Yes. I hate it. It feels terrible and whole time all I want to do is rip it out, but I do not. Do you know why?" Parker shook his head again. "Because I know it is only shot I have at saving my life, and I would never throw that shot away. Why would you throw away yours?"

Tony was taken aback at the power someone so young managed to thread into her voice and her words. Natasha could talk her way out of anything, even in English (Tony _feared_ her verbal prowess in Russian), and he shouldn't have been surprised that her word-weaving skills extended to pep talks. But it didn't matter how moved Tony was by her speech. It only mattered if she'd managed to reach Parker through the thick fog of his mental illness.

"You're right," he croaked. "But Nat, you're strong enough to cope with it. And I'm not."

"Yes you are," she corrected.

"No, I'm not! I'm not strong enough, and I need it out! I need it out!" he threw his head back against the pillow with even more force and yanked at the restraints. Tony knew that if Parker's hands were free the tube would have been ripped out hours ago. He silently thanked whoever had first suggested restraining him.

"Parker, calm down," Tony placated. "It's going to be okay. Take deep breaths. You're fine."

"No! Get it out! If you were really my friends, you'd help me and pull it out!" He thrashed his head side to side and struggled with even more force than before. Happy called for reinforcements, but Tony had no idea what they could even do in this situation besides sedation. Tony and Steve took an instinctual step back for their own safety, watching on in horror as Parker's thrashing intensified. Natasha hid behind Tony, wrapping her arms around him tightly and burying her head in his shirt.

Tony should have expected it, given the ridiculous levels of stress presented to him by the current situation. But given the ridiculous levels of stress presented to him by the current situation, he wasn't thinking straight. He could feel his heart pounding, but didn't notice the changes leading up to the sudden feeling of being punched in the chest by a heavyweight boxer. Natasha yelped and leapt away from him. Tony, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears drowning out the sounds of Parker's screams, put a hand to his chest and scrabbled to catch his breath. Pain lingered long after the shock was administered, and he knew something was very wrong. He stumbled, Steve's arms the only thing stopping him from plummeting straight to the floor. Distantly, he heard the door open and saw Heimdall and Maria burst in to help handle Parker. He managed to get his feet back underneath him, but couldn't bring himself to let go of Steve.

Steve pulled him towards the door and Tony stumbled along behind him, Natasha at their heels. "Get it out!" he heard Parker cry one last time before Natasha closed the door behind them and Steve rushed Tony back to his own room and pressed his call button for him. Natasha snatched Dum-E from the foot of the bed and clutched him to her chest, tears falling once again. "Tony, you okay?" Steve asked. Tony attempted to meet Steve's gaze, but found he couldn't focus his eyes enough. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off when Peggy opened the door to answer his call.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking frantically at Natasha crying in the corner and then to Steve kneeling in front of Tony's bed.

"I—I don't know," Steve admitted.

Tony gathered enough of his breath to answer Peggy and relieve Steve, "ICD…shocked me. Still hurts." He panted, the combined strain of watching Parker sail off the deep end and his own heart's visceral reaction proving too much for his sanity. Upon hearing this, Peggy immediately pulled up Tony's EKG readings and assessed his current rhythm. "Breathe Tony," Steve instructed. His words reached some part of Tony's brain and he began consciously slowing down and deepening his breaths. His senses felt less overloaded and his head less likely to explode from the stimuli.

"I think I'm okay now," Tony spluttered as the pain subsided somewhat. "It was just a lot…all at once."

"I'm going to get Rhodes in here to take a look at you. Anything changes, you let someone know, okay?"

"Okay." Peggy left, and Steve stood up to make his way over to Natasha.

"Nat, it's alright," he coaxed, wiping a tear off her chin with his thumb. She squeezed Dum-E and managed to get shakily to her feet. She handed the elephant back to Tony, who noticed just how damp its fur had gotten. Poor Natasha. Nobody her age should have to cope with any of this shit. She cared about all of them too much for her own good. Steve led Natasha out, presumably to his own room so Nat wouldn't have to listen to the events unfolding in Parker's room anymore. Tony lay down and ran his hands through his hair in despair.

The War Machine entered his room with a smile, which Tony despised. "Just get on with it," Tony growled at the cardiologist undeserving of his venom. Rhodes spent several minutes studying his EKG before he seemed satisfied that Tony's defibrillator had done its job properly.

"What were you doing leading up to the shock?" Rhodes asked. Of course, he was uninvolved in Parker's treatment and therefore had little idea of what transpired yesterday and today.

"Steve, Nat and I were visiting Parker. He had a nasogastric tube inserted yesterday because he lost weight, and it's not going well at all. He was screaming at us to pull it out, Natasha started clinging to me, Steve looked ready to go to war with everybody in the world and also himself, I had no idea what to do, and then it shocked me."

"I'm sorry to hear about Parker," Rhodes said genuinely. Tony shook his head solemnly. "I think this was just an isolated incident caused by stress, not a sign that things are worsening. But I don't want any more excitement for you today. Rest up—that means chilling in here, no wandering off to the common room, no homework, and no visiting your neighbors—for the remainder of today, and start fresh tomorrow.

"You're putting me on bed rest?"

"Essentially. Now try not to stress out about Parker, our best team is on his case and they will figure something out. We will not let him go," Rhodes assured. Hearing that from a doctor and not just from Steve or Natasha made it much easier to believe wholeheartedly. Tony nodded and thanked the doctor before watching him leave and head off to his next patient. Too tired to even turn off the light, Tony curled up and promptly fell asleep.


	34. Civil War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Chadwick Boseman, especially after such a long and arduous fight. It feels...strange...to be in the midst of publishing a story like this only for a cruel reminder that, while these characters are fictional, the enemies they face are anything but. Cancer has extinguished too many bright lights, and I can only hope that the future will bring more effective ways to fight this monster.
> 
> This chapter shares the name of the movie that first introduced the magnificent character of T'Challa to the big screen, and I think it's fitting that I happen to publish it today of all days. I used to think things like that were mere coincidence, but recently I've leaned more and more into the belief that there may be more at play. My heart goes out to his family and loved ones.

He didn't manage to sleep for very long. Steve woke him up by barging into the room with Natasha at his heels. Tony sat up blearily and waited for his eyes to focus well enough to meet Steve's gaze.

"'M not supposed to have visitors," he mumbled.

"Why?" Steve asked skeptically.

"Rhodes said no more excitement today. And while seeing you doesn't necessarily set my heart racing, it's in my best interest to listen to the man."

"Well, now it's in your best interest to listen to me." Tony tried to protest, but Steve had already stormed up to him and looked ready to lecture. "We need to help Parker."

"We already tried that, remember? Steve, the kid's got deep-rooted psychological issues that we're just not equipped to handle."

"But we can't just leave him there to suffer."

"We'll go and keep him company if we get permission; there's not much more we can do besides that."

"Yes, there is. I don't know about you, but I refuse to sit idly by and let him be chained to his own bed with a tube shoved up his face that he obviously doesn't want," Steve said vehemently.

"It's not about what he wants. It's about what he _needs_ ," Tony refuted.

"He needs to be listened to," Natasha added. "It is not fair they make decisions against his will."

"Parker is a minor, and therefore he is not eligible to make his own medical decisions. Further, he is an orphan, so those decisions fall to the government or his social worker or whoever. And they will agree to whatever his doctors say is best for him. We can't do anything about that."

"We could talk to Hope, convince her to change her approach," Steve suggested.

Tony restrained himself from growling in frustration at Steve's adamancy. If Rhodes knew that Tony was having this conversation after being instructed to rest, he definitely would not approve. "Hope knows what she's doing. She specializes in these sorts of cases."

"But Tony, you were there. You saw him. What kind of friends are we if we just sit here not doing anything?"

"We're the kind of friends that want our friend to live. Guys, Parker is _sick_. Not sick like you or I am, but sick nonetheless. His survival instincts are literally nonexistent, and the best thing we can do is let the experts handle it."

Despite Tony's perfectly reasonable argument, Steve was evidently unconvinced. In fact, he looked positively angry. But at whom, Tony couldn't tell. Until Steve leveled him with a glare of pure hatred. So much for an un-stressful rest of the day. "I can't believe you," he growled. "You're not only willing, you seem _happy_ to leave him like that."

"Get out," Tony commanded. If this argument went on much longer, the stress would certainly send his rhythm spiraling into fibrillation. He almost wished it would, just so Steve would leave him alone. When his guests remained stubbornly seated, he repeated himself more firmly, "Get. Out." Steve stood, fixed him with a parting glare of loathing, and marched out. Natasha took a bit more time, pausing at the door to mouth, "Sorry," before following Steve out.

Tony massaged his temples to quell the building headache and wondered how his life had come to this. First, his stupid heart landed him in this hospital—either for life or until it was ripped out of his chest to be replaced by a stranger's. Second, one of his best friends had driven himself to death's door despite their support and that of the hospital's team. And to top it all off, his friend was mad at him for disagreeing with him and was probably on the verge of crusading to change hospital protocols. He could understand where Steve was coming from, but just wished he could see sense. It wasn't Parker that Steve was trying to help—it was Parker's eating disorder. Steve wanted to give in to the disease that had held Parker captive for too much of his short life. Knowing Steve, he was taking action to 'rescue' Parker already, and Tony felt obligated to prepare the nurses to deal with him.

He hauled himself up out of bed and to the nurses' station down the hallway. The effort forced him to recognize just how tired he was after the events of that morning. Happy saw him coming and frowned. He asked knowingly, "Aren't you supposed to be in bed for today?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But this is important," Tony insisted. "Steve's gone off the deep end. He's convinced that Parker is being treated unfairly and he should have more say in his medical decisions. I tried to explain to him that Parker's mentally ill, but he won't listen to me. I'm afraid that he might try to take matters into his own hands."

"By doing what?"

"He mentioned talking to Hope, which isn't inherently bad, but I fear he might just be vindictive enough to take physical action. Just, promise me you'll keep an eye on him? Maybe have someone other than me try to get him to see sense when it comes to Parker's treatment?"

"Okay, Tony. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now, back to bed with you. I don't want to see you up and about until morning, yes?"

"Yes, Happy," Tony acquiesced. He trudged back to his room—seriously, this fatigue was so not the move—and tried to redirect his train of thought onto a less depressing track. But he couldn't help but wonder if Parker would approve of his siding with the doctors, or if he'd turn on him just like Steve did. He didn't want the kid to hate him. He didn't want Steve to hate him either, but he was beyond undoing that now. If his own logic wasn't enough to make him see reason, what would it take?

~0~

Steve stormed out of Tony's room once he'd heard enough to be convinced of Tony's complete disregard for Parker's autonomy. Natasha followed him silently, but he figured that was only because she didn't want to risk hearing any more of Parker's trauma through their shared wall. But instead of heading back to his own room, Steve marched straight to Bucky's. He was the only one Steve could rely on to see things from his perspective.

"Bucky, we have a problem," he announced.

"Who died?" Bucky asked sardonically.

"Nobody yet. But there's more at stake here."

"More at stake than dying? What, are we going to war?"

"I certainly hope it doesn't come to that."

"Steve, I'm gonna need you to back it up so I actually understand what the hell is going on."

Steve sighed and launched into an explanation of everything that had transpired in the past two days. Halfway through, Natasha left for a few minutes and returned with Clint in tow. He and Bucky listened intently as Steve brought them up to speed. Once he reached the end, all three of the cancer kids present seemed to agree that Parker should be given more opportunity to make his own decision, especially since he had no parents to do it for him. The state could never replace that figure in his life; the people legally in charge of that decision didn't know Parker and never could know him as well as his friends did. All four of them were fully prepared to challenge the authorities here in this hospital, and Steve himself was willing to go all the way to the state of New York if it came to that.

With the others in tow, Steve marched to the nurses' station to appeal to the first nurse he encountered. Happy happened to be there, and upon seeing Steve he appeared unsurprised. Steve started to talk, but the nurse cut him off, effectively shutting him down, "I know what this is about, and I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

"No buts about it. Tony told me you're on the warpath about Parker, and it's not going to get you anywhere." Steve clenched his jaw in rage. Tony told him he was supposed to rest all day, but he'd walked all the way here just to tattle on him.

"But we just want to help him."

"I know, and that's great. You are all great friends, but this is above you."

If there was one thing Steve hated more than anything, it was being told he was too young or too inexperienced to handle a situation. So Happy's comment put him in a dangerous state of mind. He and the other resident patients spent more time with Parker and knew him better than anyone else in the world, so how could decisions affecting Parker's life and wellbeing be above them? Steve fumed, but didn't stoop to insulting or shouting at Happy. Instead, he headed straight for the top of the relevant hierarchy: Dr. Hope van Dyne, the specialist in charge of Parker's case.

He marched to her office and knocked briskly, too full of anger-fuelled confidence to worry that she might not be there. She answered his knock with an invitation, so he and his three followers entered and stood defiantly before her desk. She looked up at them, puzzled, as the four stared her down with all the vehemence of lions staring down their prey.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"You can listen," Steve practically growled. He then proceeded to relay the story of the past two days yet again, ensuring to highlight their perspective of the issue at hand. How Natasha had run to them crying because she thought someone was deliberately trying to hurt Parker. How desperately Parker had fought and cried to be freed. How the only people who cared for him without being _paid_ to do so were standing here in this room on this side of the desk.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said slowly, in the same tone parents used when they heard out their kids' complaints about their unfair chore load or early curfew. "But I don't quite understand what you want me to do about it."

"Give him a chance," Steve insisted. "He told us that he begged to be given a chance to prove himself and that chance was denied to him."

"Steve, Parker's been given plenty of chances and support to do this on his own, and he's proven time and time again that he's not mentally capable. We're doing what we must to keep him alive long enough to resolve the underlying issue."

"There _has_ to be another way."

"I'm sorry, but this is the best option we have."

"If the best option you have is imprisoning a child, then you need to reevaluate your options," Steve stated methodically. He didn't wait to hear if Hope would reply to his declaration. He marched out with his head held high, knowing he'd done the right thing to protect his friend.

They returned to their ward and all started for Steve's room, but were stopped by Happy. "Where have you been?" he asked.

Steve couldn't exactly tell him the truth, but he also couldn't lie. Happy always knew when he was lied to. "Downstairs," he answered vaguely.

"I want you to understand that if you went to see Dr. van Dyne, you're in trouble. I won't allow any of you to interfere with each other's treatment. Did you go to Dr. van Dyne?"

"No," Steve said confidently, hoping that he'd be the exception and Happy would be unable to see through his deception.

"Yes," Natasha corrected. Happy turned his stern gaze briefly to her, and then back to Steve, where it morphed into something far more threatening. _Traitor_ , Steve thought. He could tell Happy bought it, his naïve belief that he had control over his patients overpowering his lie detecting skills. And Natasha had sold them out.

"All of you. To your rooms. Now." He delivered the order calmly, without raising his voice even a decibel, and that made it all the more terrifying. The group slunk off down the hallway and into their respective rooms. The hall echoed with the sound of four doors subsequently slamming.

Steve's breath was heaving by the time he got to his bed and sat down. Through his burning desire to protect Parker, he'd temporarily ignored any signs of illness from his own body. Suddenly the oxygen delivered from his cannula didn't feel like nearly enough. He cranked up the flow rate and sat against the head of his bed, inhaling greedily in the hopes it would ease the fuzzy feeling blooming in his head. It took ages, far longer than it ever had before, for his head to clear and his chest to feel less constricted. Emotional turmoil really wasn't ideal for sick kids, Steve decided.

On this matter, he was right.

~0~

Happy spread the word about the falling out to the other staff, and they instituted a no-interaction policy across the entire ward, effective immediately. They were all to be confined to their rooms except for treatments and forbidden from visiting each other until further notice. The nurses each visited a few rooms to deliver this news in person, and the group chat blew up with complaints and commiserations.

Everything had spiraled so quickly. That first fateful visit to Parker's room happened around nine that morning, and the new rules were in place by six that evening. They'd brought this upon themselves, the nurses reminded them. Yes, some of them had overstepped, but most of them were completely innocent and didn't deserve this solitary confinement. Well, they may have brought this upon themselves, but fate—and bad luck—certainly had a hand in what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken a pretty deep dive into medical ethics with these past two chapters. I don't expect anyone to fully agree with Tony's or Steve's opinion, especially with such a complex issue. I presented both points of view instead of sticking to third person limited with only Tony because I think it's important to understand both characters' thought processes.


	35. The Gravesen Group Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried out a very different format with this chapter, and I actually had a lot of fun with it.

**Sunday** 5:54PM

Bucky: Peggy just said we're on lockdown

Nick: wtf

Quill: maria just told me the same thing

Thor: same here, from Sharon

Clint: Hap is here telling me

Nick: now maria is here

Bucky: did they just split up and spread the news

Steve: it appears so

Quill: why are we on lockdown

Nick: yeah why

Natasha: is this about parker

Steve: probably

Quill: wait what

Steve: Tony and I had an argument about parker

Nick: Tony is this true

Clint: still don't know why we're on lockdown

Bucky: Steve advocated to change parker's course of treatment

Steve: because his current course is unethical, Bucky neglected to mention

Bucky: whatever

Natasha: happy got mad and sent us to our rooms

Bucky: he didn't like us getting opinions about each others treatment

Steve: I guess he put us on lockdown so we can't be involved

Clint: yeah

Nick: so none of us can leave because you guys had a spat

Quill: that's stupid

Bucky: of course it's stupid

Quill: why am I imprisoned because you all fucked up

Steve: we didn't think they'd punish everybody

Steve: we just wanted to help parker

Nick: and look where that landed you

Steve: I'm sorry

Natasha: I am sorry too

Bruce: you all are lucky they said I can still take my morning walk. Otherwise I'd be angry

Thor: hi bruce

Quill: I'm still not happy that I have to remain in this four walled prison with no respite beyond radiation vacations

Bucky: none of us are happy

Quill: at least some of you had something to do with it

Quill: I've been minding my own business all day and now I hear I'm an inmate

Quill: not cool

Steve: we'll get them to revoke it

Natasha: who is we?

Steve: I don't know

Steve: whoever wants to help me

Clint: last time we helped you we all ended up on lockdown

Bucky: he has a point

Steve: come on Buck

Steve: I said I was sorry

Bucky: I forgive you

Bucky: but that doesn't mean I'm ready to charge into another pointless battle

Steve: this one won't be pointless

Steve: it's for our freedom

Thor: we had our freedom until you got involved

Quill: yeah

Steve: I said I'm sorry!

Steve: I messed up and it affected other people and I regret that

Steve: I was just trying to defend one of our own

Bucky: and there's nothing wrong with that

Natasha: maybe it will be good for us to take break from each other

Clint: everyone gets unlimited me time

Quill: alright

Quill: still not super happy

Clint: nobody is

Clint: we're in the hospital

Thor: he has a point

Quill: Yeah he does

Nick: anyone else up for annoying the nurses until they lift the lockdown

Clint: sounds like a plan

Bucky: I'm in

Steve: come on guys be nice to nurses

Steve: they work too hard to be abused by a bunch of kids

Nick: goody two shoes :P

Bucky: nobody uses punctuation emoticons nick

Nick: I do

Clint: weirdo

Nick: buzz off

Clint: fine

Bucky: fine

**Sunday** 9:37 PM

Natasha: I do not feel good

Steve: what's wrong

Natasha: I just feel wrong

Steve: did you call a nurse

Natasha: not yet

Clint: push the button

Natasha: ok

Steve: let us know if you're ok

Natasha: I have fever

Nick: oh shit

Clint: how high

Natasha: 101.7

Clint: SHIT

Bucky: that's bad news man

Clint: what's gonna happen

Natasha: idk

**Sunday** 10:41 PM

Natasha: I am going to iso

Clint: nononononono

Nick: that's really bad

Natasha: it is 102.4 now

Bucky: oh man

Natasha: I'm scared

Bucky: it's gonna be ok Nat

Clint: yeah they'll fix you

Steve: Nat we'll all be thinking about you until you're better

Thor: just let us know if there's anything we can do

Clint: is she still here

Bucky: I don't think so

Nick: hope she's ok

Steve: we all do

Steve: Thor aren't you supposed to be in bed. It's late

Thor: can't sleep

Bucky: put your phone down and try

Thor: aren't we all supposed to be in bed

Steve: you especially

Thor: don't they say sleep cures cancer

Nick: no they certainly don't

Steve: but lack of sleep exacerbates your seizures

Thor: I know I know

Bucky: go to bed

Thor: fine

Nick: do you think he really went to sleep

Bucky: or is he reading all the messages and just not responding

Clint: idk

Steve: he better have gone to bed

Bucky: ok dad

Steve: I'm not your dad

Bucky: I know you just act like one

Quill: every friend group has that one mom friend

Quill: and you're the dad friend

Steve: I am not

Nick: you just told a boy to go to bed

Steve: as a caring friend

Steve: not as a parent

Nick: whatever helps you sleep at night

**Monday** 7:45 AM

Quill: did anyone else see the ppl rush into Thor's room

Nick: no

Steve: maybe

Steve: I heard more people than usual walk by

Quill: did they sound like they were in a hurry

Steve: yeah

Quill: they all just poured into Thor's room

Bucky: he probably just had a seizure

Quill: he doesn't need that much help for a typical seizure

Nick: idk if I've ever said this before but Quills right

Quill: hey

Quill: now is not the time

Nick: If it was just a seizure they wouldn't go pouring in

Bucky: guys

Bucky: just saw wong go by headed towards thor's room

Steve: that's not good

**Monday** 8:18 AM

Quill: Heimdall and Peggy just left the room

Steve: and wong?

Quill: haven't seen him

Quill: probably still inside

Clint: what's going on

Clint: just woke up

Steve: we don't know

Steve: a bunch of nurses and wong went into thor's room 30min ago

Bucky: we don't know what's wrong

Monday 8:31 AM

Steve: any updates on Nat

Clint: Maria said she might have to go to Budapest

Bucky: I thought the new rule was we can't know anything about anyone's treatment

Steve: I guess that doesn't count

Steve: or they made an exception

Clint: I made her tell me

Clint: Nat is my best friend

Clint: I'm really worried about her

Nick: it'll be okay

Nick: man we're dropping like flies here

Clint: this is scary

Quill: yeah I'm freaked out

Steve: I think we all are

Bucky: any word on thor?

Quill: no

Nick: nope

**Monday** 10:09 AM

Nick: is it morally acceptable to extort nurses for info by refusing to go to chemo

Bucky: depends on the info you're looking for

Quill: ask them about thor

Nick: will do

Monday 1:42 PM

Quill: Nick, did you get any info

Nick: the whole scoop

Steve: tell us

Bucky: did the extortion work

Nick: not exactly

Nick: just overheard shit on the way to chemo clinic

Quill: how is he

Nick: he seized for 30min

Clint: that's so long

Steve: that's too long

Nick: yeah

Nick: he still hasn't woken up

Bucky: but it's been 5hrs

Nick: I know

Nick: they mentioned brain damage

Nick: and coma

Bucky: shit

Clint: that's bad

Quill: guys I'm getting really freaked out

Steve: this is a hospital

Steve: bad things will happen

Quill: but this many all at once?

Bucky: coincidence

Quill: what if it's not

Bucky: why wouldn't it be

Quill: could be karma

Clint: for what?

Quill: idk

Quill: the fighting that put us on lockdown in the first place

Steve: can we not rehash that

Quill: I won't. Sorry

Quill: I'm just scared one of us will be next

**Monday** 4:32 PM

Nick: bad news

Quill: more?

Steve: is it Nat?

Bucky: or thor

Nick: it's me

Steve: what happened

Nick: rescue paid me a visit

Clint: what did she say

Nick: the chemo isn't working like she wanted it to

Bucky: so now what happens

Nick: she said the next best option is to take out the eye

Clint: no!

Quill: you'll be blind

Nick: you think I don't know that!

Nick: I don't want them to do it

Nick: but I also don't want to die of fucking cancer

Bucky: at least you'll never have to see any of our ugly faces again

Nick: and it's that thought which keeps me going in this dark time

Quill: was that a pun

Nick: maybe

Quill: you bastard

Nick: that's blind bastard to you

Steve: I can't believe you're making light of this

Quill: another pun goddammit

Steve: that was unintentional

Quill: I don't care if it was intentional or not

Quill: you have punned

Bucky: how can we be punning at a time like this?

Quill: it's the only thing keeping me sane

Quill: which is saying a lot considering I have a tumor rapidly encroaching on the logical reasoning section of my brain

Bucky: are you sure you even have one of those?

Steve: really guys? Now is not the time

Steve: save the playful banter for when our friends aren't possibly dying

Quill: steve, our friends are always possibly dying

**Tuesday** 2:13 AM

Steve: Has anybody heard from Tony?

**Tuesday** 8:01 AM

Nick: I get to pick what color my glass eyes are

Clint: that's cool

Clint: wait why don't you already have one glass eye

Nick: because I thought an eyepatch would be cooler

Nick: but two eyepatches will just be dumb

Bucky: what color do you want

Nick: I was thinking blood red

Quill: I advise against it

Nick: why?

Quill: bc it's creepy as hell

Clint: yeah

Nick: ok

Nick: how about making the entire eye solid black

Bucky: somehow you went from creepy to full blown demonic

Bucky: I didn't think it was possible

Quill: you would look like a creature from a horror movie

Clint: I think you should start a collection

Clint: mix and match your eyes depending on your mood for the day

Nick: you think they make eyes out of the same stuff they make mood rings out of

Bucky: bc we def need to see your eyes turn from green to red before you swear at us

Quill: solid black wouldn't be nearly as creepy as clear

Bucky: that's disgusting

Nick: that's a great idea!

Clint: no

Quill: hey why hasn't steve weighed in yet

Bucky: I think he has some test this morning

**Tuesday** 9:20 AM

Steve: how is everyone

Steve: and yes I had a test this morning

Steve: Nick if you get clear eyeballs I swear to god I will smack you so hard they fly out of your head

Bucky: how was the test

Steve: unideal

Quill: elaborate plz

Steve: lung function is still down 10% from my baseline

Steve: and my baseline isn't very good in the first place

Steve: I might get added to transplant list

Bucky: I'm sorry buddy

Steve: thought I'd be able to get my numbers back up

Nick: you can't always get what you want

Bucky: but if you try sometimes

Quill: you just might find

Bucky: you get what you need

Steve: yep everyone needs lungs that don't work

Steve: any other news?

Quill: that reference went totally over his head

Bucky: uncultured swine

Quill: Heimdall told me thor woke up for a bit

Bucky: how did he seem?

Quill: I don't think he was up long enough for them to know much

Quill: but he said he knew his name

Steve: that's a good sign

Steve: anyone hear anything about Tony?

Nick: no

Bucky: nope

Clint: no

**Tuesday** 12:19 PM

Steve: I asked happy about Tony

Bucky: what did he say

Steve: just something about patient confidentiality

Nick: tony usually answers texts

Quill: yeah it's weird for him to go off the grid like this

Bucky: I'll bet he's just upset we ganged up on him about the whole thing with parker

Steve: I wouldn't say we ganged up on him

Clint: we kinda did

Nick: maybe he just doesn't like to gossip like this

Steve: maybe

Bucky: or he could just be getting all the info he needs from the nurses

Bucky: he has a way of getting what he wants out of them

Steve: I just hope he's ok

**Wednesday** 10:32 AM

Nick: something's going on in parker's room

Bucky: oh no

Nick: Heimdall happy and hope are all in there

Nick: I'm gonna press my ear against my wall. Maybe I can hear what they say when they come out

Clint: how do you know when that'll happen

Nick: I don't

Nick: but I'm patient

Steve: can you hear anything

Nick: not yet

Nick: they're still in his room

Quill: what do you think is going on

Bucky: he's probably having another meltdown

Clint: don't call it that

Bucky: sorry idk what else to call it

Bucky: I wasn't there but the way steve tells the story makes it sound like a meltdown

Nick: screw it

Nick: I'm cracking my door open

Nick: I'm not violating the lockdown law as long as I keep my ass in here

Quill: be careful

Steve: Hope just walked by my door

Steve: probably on her way back to her office

Nick: I heard her mumbling as she left parker's

Bucky: what did she say

Nick: she told heimdall parker's case is the worst she's seen in her entire career

Quill: shit

Nick: uh oh

Nick: happy just came out and he's covered in blood

Bucky: wtf

Steve: did they hurt him

Nick: idk

**Wednesday** 3:46 PM

Bucky: overheard Maria say parker pulled his tube

Steve: wait how?

Steve: they restrained him

Bucky: from what I heard, they basically let him out of prison on good behavior

Bucky: and he ripped the sucker out the second he got a chance

Bucky: I guess he tricked them into thinking he was chill enough to cope now

Steve: is parker ok

Bucky: gave himself the mother of all nosebleeds apparently

Bucky: Hope's at a loss

Steve: I really hope they figure something out

Bucky: me too

Quill: yeah

Steve: still nothing from tony?

Bucky: what are you, madly in love?

Steve: no!

Steve: you're not also worried about him?

Bucky: of course I am

Bucky: I'm always worried about all of you

Steve: it's just so unlike him to not contribute to the conversation

Quill: you're right

Quill: it's weird for him

Steve: I just hope he's okay with all this crazy stuff going on

Nick: I'm sure he's fine

Nick: he's tony

Steve: that's exactly why I'm worried

**Wednesday** 8:51 PM

Bucky: still no word?

Steve: none

Nick: asked Peggy

Nick: she cited patient confidentiality

Quill: I asked heimdall and he said the same thing

Steve: that's so weird

Bruce: he'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this

Bucky: bruce? What are you doing here?

Bruce: Regretting my choices

Steve: why would tony kill you if he knew you told us

Bruce: he made me promise not to tell

Nick: why

Bruce: he didn't want you all to worry

Steve: well we're already worried

Bucky: whats happening

Quill: where is he

Bruce: Tony's in the ICU


	36. Open Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should apologize for evil cliffhanger? At least the wait is over- and it was shorter than usual :)

"I think this was just an isolated incident caused by stress, not a sign that things are worsening," Dr. Rhodes had told him. But after Tony's defibrillator fired twice more that same day, he stopped believing that. By the time Happy told him about the newly instated no-interaction laws, it didn't matter because Rhodes had already put him on indefinite bed rest until he could figure out what was going on. Tony's rapid deterioration mystified him.

He attempted to fall asleep around eleven that night, but discovered he couldn't lie flat without inducing a hacking cough that made him feel like he was drowning. He was forced to raise the head of his bed, but Tony had never been able to sleep reclining. He resigned himself to a miserable, sleepless night.

He could feel that his extremities weren't getting enough oxygen before the pulse oximeter they'd snapped on his finger started to cry its alarm at around three in the morning. Within minutes of that, Tony and Steve were nasal cannula twins. Thinking about Steve, Tony picked up his phone to glance at the group chat conversation. He'd set his phone to silent so he wouldn't be bothered by the constant notifications. Mostly they were complaining about being locked in their rooms like a bunch of grumpy Rapunzels. But then he also read the messages about Natasha's fever and her being sent to isolation. That certainly did not bode well.

He heard a rush of people trample past his room for one reason or another. Large hoards of people hurrying around in a hospital never indicated anything good. After hearing that commotion, his ICD fired again, and this time pain in his chest lingered long after the shock stopped.

Even after they conducted multiple tests, Rhodes could not conclude what was causing his heart to weaken so quickly and dramatically. Tony was now on the highest oxygen flow rate possible, and he still felt like he wasn't getting enough air. His fingertips took on a bluish tinge that refused to fade. Tony told Happy to call his parents.

He glanced at the group chat and recognized that several people on the ward were experiencing similar misfortune. He considered sharing his own, but instantly decided against it. After he and Steve's falling out, he doubted anyone would even care. They were all loyal to him because he'd been here longer and proven himself an infinitely more useful companion. Tony could never comfort the younger patients like Steve had with Natasha; his protective instincts were practically nonexistent. Yet another reason he shouldn't have kids—beyond the fact he was likely to pass down the genes that had caused his fucked up heart.

Plus, he didn't want to regain his companions' trust with pity.

~0~

His parents arrived Monday evening, his mom completely out of her mind with worry and his father even more stoic than usual. "Hey Mom," he said slowly, those two words nearly exhausting his oxygen reserves. "Dad," he forced himself to add.

"How are you doing?" Mom asked.

"Been better," he answered honestly. She clearly noticed how exhausted he looked, especially after talking, and stopped trying to start a conversation. Instead, she just sat beside his bed and took his cold hand in hers, attempting to rub some warmth back into it. She told him stories from his childhood until he finally managed to fall asleep.

He only woke up once in the middle of the night to cough and catch his breath.

Tuesday morning, they did an echocardiogram to measure how much blood his heart was managing to pump. Before they even started the procedure, Tony knew it couldn't be much. He lay on his left side, feeling the urge to cough creep up on him due to the nearly-horizontal position. He stifled it, breathing slowly as the gel-coated wand pressed against his chest.

His ejection fraction was down to twenty percent. Anything less than thirty five was considered severe.

They were running out of options faster than he was running out of time.

~0~

The War Machine proposed installing a ventricular assist device to a trio of terrified Starks. Tony had hoped his only open heart surgery would be the one that replaced his faulty one with something functional, but now it looked like he didn't have a choice. Unless a new heart arrived for him in the next forty eight hours, the odds he would survive were slim to none. His mother wept. His father laced his fingers together and squeezed so tightly his fingers turned almost as blue as Tony's. Tony just breathed. It was about the only thing he could focus on doing without becoming so dizzy he wanted to vomit. And vomiting was reserved for the cancer kids, Tony thought.

That ventricular assist device was looking more and more enticing by the minute. It was a pump they would attach to his heart that would essentially do its job for it—since, of course, it was failing to fulfill its one and only purpose. This would hopefully buy him enough time for a new heart. Plus, there was the added bonus of being attached to batteries twenty four seven. Tony thought it sounded like a dream.

"Do it," he rasped. It wasn't his signature that would have to go on the paperwork, but his parents wouldn't subject him to having his chest ripped open without his consent—at least, his mother wouldn't. His father might if given the opportunity. Regardless, they had his consent, and he was scheduled for early the next morning.

Giving him plenty of time to panic.

He couldn't turn to everyone else, not after the Parker incident. Besides, they were all quarantined until further notice, forbidden from getting involved or even knowing about anyone else's current treatments. Nobody would be allowed to visit him beforehand so he could apologize for any lingering hostility in case he died on the table…or before he even got there. It would be better if they remained blissfully unaware of Tony's crisis. But he needed a contingency plan. Someone he could trust with this information, to distribute it only in the worst case scenario. It didn't take Tony long to choose a confidant. Bruce.

He snatched up his phone and did his best to type out what he needed with slow fingers that barely responded to his commands. Thank God for autofill, or he wouldn't have had the stamina to complete his message:

"Heart failing. Surgery tomorrow to implant VAD. Promise not to tell anyone unless I die."

"I promise," came his response almost immediately. "Godspeed."

Tony wasn't entirely sure what that last part meant, but his brain was too fuzzy to even attempt to figure it out.

~0~

Being wheeled to surgery was fucking terrifying. If Tony had any say in the matter, he would walk to his heart transplant. Given, of course, that it eventually happened. He could do nothing but cling to the rails as his momentum was controlled exclusively by strangers. He would've closed his eyes if he wasn't afraid it might be the last time he ever did so.

His mother's goodbye and good luck speech had been heartbreaking. Tony could tell she didn't think he'd live to see seventeen. And if she believed it, Tony was inclined to follow suit. But Dad's farewell terrified him far more. Though it apparently caused him physical pain, he said, "I love you, son." Howard Stark had not uttered those words once throughout his entire career as a father, but he'd finally mustered the anti-machismo to say them now. Tony was convinced he was going to die. The evidence was overwhelmingly in favor of that conclusion.

They laid him out flat on a table, and he spent the last few seconds before he was knocked out mentally screaming that he needed to sit up so he could _breathe_. When the meds kicked in, he didn't tumble immediately into a black chasm of nothingness like he expected to. Instead, a blinding golden light scorched his retinas. Reaching out a hand to block it out failed; the light was all-permeating. Suddenly it condensed and the supernova collapsed in on itself, revealing a girl still glowing with energy. She stared at him, her expression a strange combination of puzzled and awestruck. He expected her to speak to him. She didn't. Just stared as if waiting for him to recognize and address her. The image came to him: pencil lines on paper, lines delineating the exact same features that now stood before him. Her name graced his lips just as the blackness washed his mind blank. Carol.

~0~

Tony Stark did not die that Wednesday. But whatever remained of his innocence did.

Waking up still intubated was a nightmare of a situation for a number of reasons. First, the sensation of something wedged down his throat and filling his mouth was all kinds of uncomfortable. And second, the notion that they didn't trust him to do something as simple as breathing by himself meant that he'd truly never been weaker than right now. Tony hated exhibiting weakness, absolutely despised it. His father had made sure of that.

The man in question was nowhere in sight when Tony managed to pry his eyes open, but his mother was right there beside him, staring at him as if he held the answers to all the questions in the universe. He didn't, but he could at least tell her he was okay and that he loved her. Except he couldn't—reason number three to hate waking up intubated. If there was one thing he hated more than weakness, it was imposed silence.

But Mom knew him well enough to read in his eyes what he desperately wanted to say after his life nearly ended and still hung precariously in the balance. "I love you too," she said, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. "And they will take it out soon," she promised.

Man, if she was lying to him he'd throw a fit.

She wasn't. They did take the tube out relatively soon and return the responsibility of breathing to Tony's subconscious where it belonged. But apparently his subconscious was sleeping on the job because alarms started blaring almost instantaneously when the end of the tube passed his lips.

"Breathe, Tony," someone commanded as hands pressed an oxygen mask to his face. He sucked in a shaky inhale and, despite the copious amount of medication coursing through his veins, he felt like his rib cage might explode in a shower of bone and cartilage. When the agony climaxed, he let the air rush out again and relieve his aching chest. "Come on, deeper," the voice instructed.

How the fuck was he expected to breathe any deeper than that without his chest springing open like an overstuffed suitcase? Then a pillow was pressed against his chest and Tony found that it supported his sawed sternum just enough to ease the pain inflicted by his expanding lungs. He calmed down, breaths settling into a more natural rhythm, and the mask was replaced with his new best friend nasal cannula.

"That's it," the voice coaxed. All present parties sighed in relief, though Tony restricted his to a figurative sigh for obvious reasons.

Everything proceeded calmly for a while, calmly enough for Tony to mentally take stock of a plethora of other sensations. The sheer number of tubes was…beyond what he wanted to count. He knew they needed to monitor him and drain certain fluids or whatever, but this seemed excessive. If they could take the endotracheal tube out so soon, why couldn't the others just go with it? Tony opened his mouth to ask how long he'd have to put up with each of them, but then a small coughing fit wracked his body and even the support pillow wasn't enough to prevent him from feeling like his ribs were actively shattering. Tears wound their way down his cheeks, and when he finally relaxed he stopped breathing long enough for the oximeter to alarm.

"Tony, breathe," his mother urged, tapping him on the arm just harshly enough for it to register as pain and kick-start his breathing. He wrenched in a shallow inhale that produced a fresh round of tears. After a few more tries, he managed to get enough air to ease the feeling of actively suffocating.

He couldn't keep it up. As the hour ticked by, Tony's breathing grew shallower. Two more coughing fits of equal intensity rendered him weak and shaky. His mother periodically squeezed his hand to remind him to breathe deeper, but the fear of the pain prevented him from inhaling as much as he should. He distantly heard the doctor talking about upping his morphine, but apparently enough of the drug could cause respiratory depression. He couldn't breathe through the pain, but if they dulled the pain they'd dull his breathing. It was a horrible situation all around.

Reintubation was declared the best course of action.

Tony went briefly under and reawakened once again in the company of the wonderful tube. Though he had to admit it lessened the pain of forcing his own inhalations, he despised this physical representation of his own weakness. He could tell from the tone of the doctors' voices that this wasn't a super common eventuality. He was supposed to be able to handle it. But he couldn't. It was embarrassing.

What would his friends here think if they could see him like this? They'd probably scoff—or maybe even laugh. Tony had heard horror stories and seen the aftermath of the things they'd been forced to endure within these walls. Some things he'd witnessed firsthand. Even the kids younger than him were capable of persevering through some of the toughest things a person could experience. Yet he couldn't even manage this. How pathetic.

~0~

At some point, Tony drifted off. As a kid he never remembered his dreams, but that night vivid, jumbled scenes played themselves out in his head and promised to haunt him for days to come.

In a freezing cold bunker, he stood alone against Steve and Bucky, filled only with a burning desire to prove that he was right and they were wrong. A brutal fistfight ensued, but Tony held back. He couldn't hurt them. He'd already done enough of that. He wanted—no, _needed_ —them to back down so he wouldn't have to resort to more force. They refused to relent, and the next thing Tony knew he was sprawled out on the ground, completely vulnerable to the two men before him.

"Sorry, Tony. You know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice. But he's my friend," Steve stated. He raised his weapon, a massive circle of metal, and paused.

"So was I," Tony exhaled. He watched helplessly as Steve thrust the shield down into his chest. Tony felt his sternum crack in half and blinding pain erupted, ricocheting up and down his limbs. Breathing failed him, and he prepared for the sensation of the tube wedging itself down his throat, but instead his vision winked out and he reappeared somewhere else, his chest humming with the memory of the pain.

Before him stood Death.

Tony had never truly considered what Death might look like. Of course there were endless depictions in art and film, but nobody living possessed the capability to encompass the complexity of the figure. Tony never expected Death to appear to him in dreams as an eight-foot-tall purple man with a shiny glove, but that's the image of Thanatos which appeared before him. Tony stood with Parker, Quill, and Dr. Strange in the shadow of this massive enemy. They fought valiantly, rebelling against Death with all the strength they could muster, but he ultimately triumphed, leaving them exhausted and wounded in the red dust of this dreamscape.

Tony then watched from above as Thanatos and his army of malformed, disgusting creatures of disease swarmed the other Gravesen residents and even some of the doctors. One by one, they lost. Tony watched Natasha disappear beneath writhing, black limbs, and witnessed Bucky's other arm mercilessly torn off in the jaws of another creature. Wilson and Rhodes were hurled into the jungle underbrush and laid there motionless. Clint was nowhere to be found, and Tony could only assume he'd already succumbed. Steve fought valiantly, but he too fell to the relentless onslaught. Even Wanda appeared, tossing beasts aside only to be rushed from behind and trampled by a stampede. Bruce stood alone in a small section of the battlefield free of fighting and slit his own throat with a dagger rather than face them.

Death reigned triumphant. He snapped the fingers of his shiny glove, and the dead bodies turned to ash and blew away in the wind. Tony seethed. It was one thing to die, another entirely to be denied a proper sendoff. He snapped back into himself and watched his companions in the unknown red land turn to dust without even dying first. The force of Death shredded their bodies while they still breathed. Quill was the first to drift away, then Strange, and finally Parker. He stumbled over to Tony and collapsed, forcing him to accept his feathery weight and ease him to the ground, where he promptly dissolved into the air like Alka-Seltzer tablets in water.

Tony pulled his own hands before his face, waiting for Death to take him too, but the freedom never came. He stood alone, the ashes of his friends coating the inside of his mouth and nose and eventually blinding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist adapting the end of Infinity War into this somehow, and the only way it made sense was to make it a nightmare. Also, the Carol bit was another last-minute addition that probably has no basis in science, but I put it in anyway because I liked it.


	37. Mindsweeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of playing with POV in this chapter, hence the title. Hopefully, this little taste of different characters' inner thoughts will get you even more excited for the prequels :)

Natasha hated her guts. Her own intestines, that was. When faced with extreme stress—like watching one of her friends scream and cry for her to pull out the tube preventing him from starving to death—they tended to act up. A bug bypassing her meager immune system and making her feverish certainly didn't help matters any. The day after she was moved to isolation, her stomach started to ache with a ferocity unlike anything she'd experienced since her first month here. That first month…she didn't like to recollect it.

What she did remember from that time: being urgently told she must never hide any sort of ache or pain from the nurses and doctors. She didn't need to be told twice; last time she hid stomach pain it resulted in peritonitis, shock, and abdominal surgery. She didn't hide it this time, but she requested Happy. He knew her better than any of the other nurses, even Maria who spoke Russian.

"Happy, my stomach hurts…like last time," she whimpered. If possible, the concern already radiating from him doubled. He, too, remembered her last trip down this road.

"Good thing you told me now instead of waiting. We'll figure out what's going on," he told her.

They did figure it out after an ultrasound of her abdomen, but Natasha didn't like the answer. Her intestines were telescoping in on themselves, a phenomenon called intussusception. It's what sent her to Budapest last time. She still had the scar, though it continued to fade. At least this time they'd caught it early enough to fix it before it caused a tear. Happy told her they could try to fix it without surgery this time, which eased Natasha's nerves. She despised anesthesia; it left a bad taste in her mouth and holes in her memory. They took her to radiology and fixed it with an air enema, which certainly wasn't fun but at least it was preferable to surgery.

If only it had been that simple.

The intussusception returned within twelve hours and the doctors had no choice but to operate this time. Natasha hadn't felt so desperately alone since that lonely first month when she didn't yet know any of the other Gravesen patients. Knowing that they were there, and that they cared but couldn't do anything to comfort her beyond texting…that hurt worse than her stomach did.

"Can I see them before surgery?" she asked Happy pleadingly. It had been days since she'd interacted face-to-face with any of her friends.

"No Natasha, I'm sorry. One, you're in isolation and sick visitors are not allowed. Two, you know the new rules. No interfering with anyone else's treatment."

"But—"

"No," Happy stated with a tone that did not invite argument. However, she detected a hint of regret on his face. Natasha shut her mouth, fighting back tears with every ounce of willpower she still possessed. She didn't get to spend much more time dwelling on her loneliness, because they came to take her to surgery less than an hour later. With her last seconds of consciousness before the meds pulled her under, she wished for healing and peace for Parker.

~0~

Thor ratcheted his eyes open slowly, unwilling to subject himself to the full force of his room's lighting just yet. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been shredded by a cheese grater, sewn back together, then crushed with a mallet. The second sensation to register was the EEG cap monitoring his brain function—Thor had long ago grown used to those. Third, his headache intensified to blinding. And the fourth thing was the fiery burning in his mouth. He must've bitten the hell out of his cheeks.

"You had a thirty minute seizure," Heimdall informed him. Thor's foggy brain took three times as long as normal to process that sentence, but when it finally did he bit his lip again to stop from wailing. His seizures typically averaged two to three minutes. His longest had been nine and a half, when Loki had falsely assured him that the movie they'd been about to watch didn't have any flashing lights. That had kicked off the downward spiral that sent him here in the first place. But he'd never come close to half an hour. That was brain-frying level dangerous.

"Can you tell me your full name?"

"Th—Thor," he managed. The connections from his brain to his mouth felt frayed, and talking aggravated both the numerous sores and his headache. "Odinson." He took an agonizingly long time to get the word out, and the first syllable sounded completely wrong, but he knew it was the correct answer.

"Very good," Heimdall praised him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Heim—dall."

"Excellent. Now, follow my finger with your eyes," Heimdall instructed. Thor managed the task, but he could feel his minimal energy reserves drying up. All this testing was exhausting.

"'M…tired," he slurred.

"Just one more for now and then you can go back to sleep. Squeeze both my hands at the same time. As hard as you can." Heimdall gently picked up Thor's hands in his and waited. Thor squeezed weakly, knowing his grip was not at peak strength. He let go, hoping he hadn't failed whatever test all the questions comprised, and promptly fell asleep.

~0~

Nick stared at himself in the mirror, at the black eye patch that had defined him since he was six years old. Some kids at school had teased him, calling him a wannabe pirate, but he'd set them straight by removing it and showing off the empty socket. Kids didn't tend to bully kids that scared them. That's what he did now, remove the patch and use his remaining eye to stare at the empty hole. It didn't look quite as scary as most would assume; there was just a pinkish membrane instead of an eyeball with a white and a colored iris. Soon, both of his eyes would look like this, but he'd never get to see it.

He sat down despondently on his bed and pulled out a notebook and a pen. Now that he knew he was going to go blind in the near future, he felt the need to jot down a list of things he needed to see before that happened. He gnawed on the end of his pen for a bit before scribbling down the first thing to come to mind. He stared at the words he'd left on the page, unsure whether to be proud or disgusted with himself.

_-My friends' smiles_

Cheesy. Sentimental. Sappy. Cliché. All of these could be used to describe what he'd placed at the top of his 'Must See Before I Go Blind' list. With the current status of the lockdown, it was unknown whether he'd be able to fulfill this wish. Would they really deny him this for the sake of some stupid new protocol to prevent them from challenging each others' treatment? Nick doubted that they would. Honestly, he was surprised they hadn't broken down and lifted the ban on visiting each other already. This was the longest any punishment had ever been sustained that he knew of. A lot happened here in the interval between his first battle with cancer and this one; he'd heard stories of some pretty crazy things from Bucky and Parker, but never anything resulting in this. Nick turned back to his list and added a few more items.

_-Watch Avatar_

_-Drive a car_

_-Stargaze somewhere with less light pollution than New York_

Wow. What a stereotypical, lame list. He tossed the notebook to the ground and lay down in despair, staring at the ceiling. How had it come to this? He spent almost six years thinking he was done with this shit, that losing the one eye would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. He closed his eye and pictured living the rest of his life never witnessing anything more exciting than this blackness. How long would it take before his other senses adapted enough to compensate for his lost vision? Nick feared he would spend the next several years blundering around in the dark.

He almost considered texting a request for everyone to send a selfie so he could see them one last time in case he failed to finagle a visit before his surgery, but decided against it since they were all probably busy with their own issues. Nick didn't want to demand anything of them at a time like this. God, he hoped everyone would be okay. After the fight that he hadn't even been a part of, everything had gone to hell so quickly. After spilling that Stark was in intensive care, Bruce had stopped responding to the chat entirely. They'd begged and begged, even took turns texting him directly outside of the group chat to get him to tell them more, but Bruce remained stubbornly off the grid. The rest of them were left to speculate and worry. There was lots of worrying. Honestly, they would have been better off if Bruce hadn't told them anything at all.

~0~

Steve didn't know whether he adored or despised Bruce Banner after that. On one hand, he was the first to actually offer up information about Tony instead of citing confidentiality and all that bullshit. But on the other, he'd given them the bare minimum and then refused any and all further contact. Steve forgot all about bemoaning his decreased lung function; his thoughts were consumed by Tony.

He'd been there when Tony's defibrillator went off. He'd seen the look of pain and terror cross his face as Nat jerked away from him, startled by the jolt of power bullying his heart back into rhythm. Steve had supported Tony's weight on the walk back to his room, the other boy either too weak or too afraid to hold himself up. He remembered the rush of adrenaline and failing to understand what went wrong until Tony told him it was his ICD. Then, Steve later went back in and stayed to talk to Tony—to _argue_ with him—despite the other boy's protests that he shouldn't have had visitors. Oh God, this was all his fault! He'd riled Tony up when he should have been resting, and now he was in the ICU and possibly dying for all he knew.

Steve begged every nurse he saw after reading Bruce's text to tell him what was wrong with Tony and if he was going to be okay, but none of them would tell him anything. He wanted to tear his own hair out in frustration. The not-knowing was eating him up from the inside almost as rapidly as the guilt. The last time he saw Tony, he was so overwhelmed and angry about everything happening to Parker that he'd taken it out on his friend. The last thing he said to him was that he seemed happy to leave Parker to suffer.

"Steve, how could you ever say such a thing?" he cried aloud. Despite knowing him for the briefest amount of time, Tony cared for Parker just as much, if not more, than the rest of them. He would never wish suffering on the younger boy. What if Steve never got the chance to apologize? Tony could die for all he knew, and his last memory might be one of loathing. How could Steve live with himself if one of his best friends died thinking Steve hated him?

~0~

Bruce regretted telling the group chat about Tony. He regretted it so much that he turned off his phone right after the message delivered and promptly had a panic attack. He was supposed to press his call button when this happened, but at the moment Bruce thought company would make it worse. He needed to coach himself through this one.

Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium. Boron. Carbon. Nitrogen. Oxygen. Fluorine. Neon. Sodium. Magnesium. Aluminum. Silicon. Phosphorus. Sulfur. Chlorine. Argon. Potassium. Calcium. Scandium. Titanium. Vanadium. Chromium. Manganese.

He ran through the entire periodic table twice before his breathing slowed to normal. Tony was going to _kill_ him. Bruce had promised him that he wouldn't tell any of them unless Tony died. He'd made a vow to a young man on death's door and broken it worse than the surgeons had broken Tony's sternum to gain access to his heart.

What kind of a friend was he? Tony had confided in Bruce and Bruce alone, trusting him over any other kid in this entire hospital to hold this information sacred. What kind of person threw away that level of trust—and for no good reason? Seriously, why had he read all those messages and reacted to them? He easily could have ignored the constant texts from everyone else and proceeded with his own life without a care in the world. Well, without a care beyond the twenty thousand things he worried about constantly. And Tony. He had looked up a ventricular assist device after Tony texted him and looking at the diagrams online made him nauseous. It was barely a step down from a completely mechanical heart, a last resort when a transplant wasn't yet available. All the other kids were terrified of the misfortunes befalling them, and they didn't even know about the worst one.

Well, now they sort of did, thanks to Bruce the traitor.

 _Traitor._ He pictured Tony spitting that word in his face before never speaking to him again.

~0~

They kept Tony intubated for another twenty four hours, hoping that a day's worth of healing would be enough to allow him to breathe despite the pain. Fortunately, it was. After a harsh coughing fit immediately upon the removal of the tube, Tony's sats stabilized on oxygen and he swore to himself that he would maintain them.

"Your father wishes he could be here, but he had to go to work," Mom explained to him. He hadn't even asked her, saving his breath for breathing, but she somehow knew exactly what he was wondering. Tony hadn't seen his father since before the surgery. He suspected the man had fled because he couldn't handle it. Howard Stark could face ruthless business executives, but medicine was not his forte. Neither was having a vulnerable son.

They introduced him to the fresh hell that was the incentive spirometer. Especially with the additional time spent on the ventilator, he risked pneumonia if he didn't ensure he periodically took deep breaths. After the seventh use of the hour nearly brought tears to his eyes, Tony couldn't help but wonder if pneumonia would be preferable. Steve would chastise him for thinking that; the guy basically had had pneumonia his entire life.

Thinking about Steve made him wonder how everyone was doing. He worried about Natasha, having been taken into isolation for a fever a few days ago. He worried about all of them in isolation from each other. He and Steve caused this probation, and he was torn between wanting to apologize and forcing Steve to make the first move towards reconciliation. He didn't know what it would take to lift the ban on interacting with each other, but when he healed he vowed to do his part to fix this mess. It wasn't fair that everyone else had been roped in. Clint and Natasha were virtually inseparable, how could he live with himself knowing he'd helped build the walls that now stood between them and all the others?

~0~

They wanted Tony up and walking around less than two hours after the breathing tube came out and stayed that way, forcing him to truly contemplate for the first time what they'd had to do to save him. It took ages to ease himself to standing; every minute change in position tugged on some wire or tube and he stopped himself before he pulled something too hard. With his mom's periodic encouragement he eventually managed it. He wobbled unsteadily for the first few steps but eventually found his balance. His mom dragged along the pole bearing his forest of IV bags and the VAD equipment and they took a lap of the ward together.

"Is Dad going to come visit at all?" Tony asked. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted the answer to that question to be.

"Of course, Tony," his mother assured. "He's just terribly busy right now."

"He always seems to be terribly busy whenever I've got important shit going on," Tony grumbled.

"There's no need for profanity, Tony," she chastised.

"Actually, I think it's pretty warranted given that my life recently took a sharp turn from kinda fucked-up to pretty damn fucked-up."

"Anthony Edward Stark, I know you're hurting, but that is no excuse for rudeness."

He rubbed at his temples to try and gather his thoughts. "I'm sorry. There's just…a lot going on."

"I know, sweetheart. Why don't you talk to one of your friends about it? I'm sure they'd be willing to help."

Just the mention of them made the ache in Tony's chest intensify in a way that had nothing to do with having it sawed open and stitched back together. He knew deep down that his perception of the pain right after surgery hadn't been entirely physical. Upon waking from heavy anesthesia, the first thought to cross his mind after, "Phew, I survived," had been, "They'd better tell Steve and everyone else soon so they can stop worrying."

Only a few seconds later he remembered that none of them were fretting about him in the first place because none of them knew what happened. None of them knew what happened because the nurses locked them all away after Tony and Steve's argument drove them to do so. In that moment he realized nobody but his mother would be coming to visit him during this arduous recovery. Not that Tony didn't love her dearly, but the idea of such limited company sounded rather lonely.

"Tony, what's wrong?" his mother asked. Too lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed until now that they'd stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"We had…a falling out," he admitted.

"Who?"

"Me and Steve. We fell out hard, and because of that the nurses put all of us in lockdown and we're not allowed to see each other. Even if they wanted to, none of them could visit."

"Of course they want to. They're still your friends, even if you're temporarily separated."

"I don't know that," he countered. "Mom, Steve's like the Godfather of this hospital. All the other kids look up to him, and I sided against him in that stupid argument. I don't think any of them want anything to do with me."

"How can you know that if they're all banned from coming to see you, hmm? Tony, one argument does not a relationship make or break. Trust me, I know."

"Wait, what?" What incident was she referring to? He couldn't recall any remarkable arguments between her and his father, or with anyone else she regularly interacted with.

"Nevermind. Let's get you back to bed, where you're going to text your friends and tell them what's on your mind."

"No way. I am not going to embarrass myself by begging them to still be friends with me after what I did."

"What exactly did you do that you're convinced turned them all against you, besides disagree with the Great and Powerful Steve? I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

The echoes of Parker's screams replayed in his head, louder and more intense than they'd sounded in real life. He closed his eyes and saw the look of absolute _loathing_ Steve had thrown at him before storming out of his room with Natasha at his heels. Maybe that's why his heart so suddenly decided to quit on him—it was punishment for what he'd done to Parker and to everyone at Gravesen.

They wrapped up their stroll and Maria helped ease Tony back into bed, weary of the multitude of tubes. He got himself settled after a minute and reached for his phone to see what had gone down in the group chat since he was taken to surgery. Before he could even unlock it, one of the unfamiliar ICU nurses came in to take more blood and inform him they'd be in to perform his second postop echocardiogram in a few minutes. The first had been during the awful period after his reintubation and he didn't remember much of it. He sat through the painless but tedious procedure, the whole time thinking about the long list of messages waiting for him in the Gravesen group chat. His lock screen had been filled with notifications.

When they finally wrapped up and left him be, Tony snatched up his phone and opened the chat, scrolling to where he'd left off. So much new information had poured in during the time he'd been incapacitated. Natasha likely going into surgery. Thor and a potentially brain-damaging seizure. Nick losing his vision completely, though going a little crazy with glass eye possibilities. Parker pulling his tube. Steve's lung function dropping. But one lone message in particular both shocked and bewildered him:

"Has anybody heard from Tony?" Sent by Steve and delivered just after two in the morning on Tuesday. So Steve had lain awake in the dead of night…worrying about him? That didn't quite match up with the Steve that had left Tony's room the night the lockdown began. Then, Steve had made it quite clear that he despised Tony and everything he stood for, claiming he was happy to watch Parker suffer. Tony had agonized over that comment for hours afterwards, until he was forced to focus on his own heart's failure.

He got to the conversation from Tuesday afternoon. Apparently Steve had asked Happy about him—and denied ganging up on him after the Parker Incident. Tony certainly hadn't had any allies during that time, meaning everyone was either neutral or on Steve's side about the issue. That constituted ganging up by any definition of the term. "I just hope he's okay," Steve had written. Tony scoffed; he probably thought that so he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of Tony dying right after their argument. It didn't really count as getting the last word if the other party passed away before they got a chance to retaliate.

Tony kept scrolling until he reached the message from Bruce. That little snitch spilled the beans! Tony had explicitly told him not to share any of that information about Tony's health unless he died. Last time Tony checked, he remained in the land of the living, but for how long he didn't really know. Now the entire ward knew about his near-death. The rest of the texts consisted solely of the rest begging for Bruce to tell them more, but he never replied to any of them. His friends knew Tony was in the ICU. And they _seemed_ plenty concerned. Maybe Tony was wrong about their opinions of him, but he didn't dare assure himself that they still cared until he encountered irrefutable proof.


	38. You Weren't There

His chest tube and catheter came out the next morning. Which was more unpleasant for Tony…well, the jury was still out on that one. Between losing two tubes and his continued metabolism of all the anesthesia drugs, Tony felt better than he had in days. His fingertips had lost their blue tinge and he no longer felt like he was constantly battling to get enough air into his lungs. However, now that he was consistently lucid and feeling right-side up, they wanted him to begin his VAD management education. Which was intense.

Generally, Tony loved learning things, especially things like how machines worked and how to ensure they kept working optimally. But when the machine in question was literally all that kept him alive it kinda took all the fun out of it and replaced it with urgency and fear. He learned what all the different alarms meant and proper maintenance of the controller and batteries. He learned how to plug himself into the wall socket like a goddamn kitchen appliance. Sleeping on his stomach was out of the question because of the driveline snaking out of his abdomen, but Tony thought any position seemed potentially perilous when he was wired into the wall. The idea of rolling over in his sleep and strangling himself in his own life-support equipment terrified, yet in a twisted sense also somewhat amused him.

They also took the time to thoroughly discuss his medication regimen and ensure he understood all of it. Tony would be on bloodthinners for as long as he had the VAD to avoid clots forming within the pump, along with several other meds whose functions he only superficially understood. He wanted to be an engineer, not a doctor. As long as he knew what doses to take and when he didn't particularly care which receptors they bound to.

He took in all of that information steadfastly, but once they proceeded to dressing changes his nerves tightened like bungee cords at their maximum extension. The idea of foreign hands all over his chest while he was forced to pay attention to it certainly did not entice him. The nurse began by masking both himself and Tony. He no longer needed oxygen supplements to keep his sats up, but the suffocating feeling of the fabric against his face made him wish he still had it.

The sternal dressing was removed first. Tony had seen it before when they changed his bandages, but he still bit his lip beneath the mask when he again took in the sheer size of the line down his chest. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. Small, horizontal pieces of white tape covered the entire thing and would supposedly fall off on their own when they were ready, so he'd been informed. The nurse observed every inch of the incision carefully. An itching sensation crawled its way through the skin around it and Tony resisted the urge to scratch run his fingernails down it to eliminate the sensation. Then, the nurse applied a replacement bandage and proceeded to the other wound on his abdomen. The driveline protruded from the exit site in his abdomen; it was locked down by the sticky dressing directly over top of it and a separate anchor that sat lower and allowed him more movement without tugging on the exit site. "Pay close attention; you're eventually going to have to do this one on your own." The nurse began by removing the anchor, first releasing the driveline and then peeling the adhesive off of Tony's skin. He used some chemical to break down the stickiness so it didn't sting quite as intensely as ripping off a bandaid, but he could tell his skin was already growing irritated from contact with the adhesive. Tony would probably lose his mind if he had to endure that level of irritation and pain every day for the foreseeable future—he'd have to change this dressing every day until the wound around the driveline healed, which he was told could take up to three months.

Next, the dressing over the exit site was removed the same way, though the nurse took much more caution with sterility this time around. "If this site ever gets infected, you are in serious trouble," he said darkly. Tony only nodded meekly and continued watching raptly. Starting from the exit site and working outwards, the nurse sanitized an area of his skin larger than the bandage that would cover it and waited for it to air dry. He placed a small piece of gauze just under the line and stuck down half of a new dressing on top, adjusting the line to rest between the notches in the bandage. He then stuck down the rest of it, sealing the sensitive site off from the germ-ridden outside world. Finally, he placed a new anchor, leaving a bit of slack between it and the exit site, and locked the driveline into place.

"Well that's not complicated at all," Tony huffed.

"You'll be surprised how fast you get used to doing it," the nurse informed him. Tony wasn't exactly looking forward to daily repeats of the tedious procedure, though he understood its necessity. "And you probably already figured this out, but no swimming or baths. Electricity and water don't mix."

"I know, I'm not an idiot," Tony sighed.

"Just covering my bases."

"I'd better not make any enemies. Someone could easily unplug me in my sleep and that would be the end of it."

"I guess you just have to be nice to everyone now."

"That's a bit extreme. Just nice enough that nobody ever gets the sudden urge to murder me." As the words left his mouth, Tony recalled the look on Steve's face as he stormed out the other day. If Tony had been this vulnerable during that interaction…would Steve have just pulled his plug?

~0~

Tony spent two more days in the ICU, and they were…pretty rough. They tapered down his pain medication, effectively doubling his dread of the incentive spirometer which they still wouldn't let him quit. Despite the careful use of adhesive removal, the skin around his driveline grew irritated from the constant contact with bandages and daily changes. That irritation, in his mind, easily surpassed the lingering ache in his chest. What grated on him the most, though, was the isolation. He saw nobody except his mother and unfamiliar nurses and doctors. When they finally deemed him well enough (correction, stable enough that he wouldn't nearly die in a short period of time) to return to his room on the pediatric residential ward, he could've jumped for joy—if jumping wasn't on the extensive list of activities he wasn't allowed to resume. Normally, he'd go to a step-down ICU, but the amount of care and attention he'd receive would be about the same in either place at Gravesen, plus his room had the added benefit of being familiar, which would apparently benefit his mental recovery or whatever. Of course, it also had the added drawback of knowing his friends were mere doors away but being unable to speak to them.

He took a walk, as was mandated he do at least three times a day postsurgery, and paused outside each and every door. The true reason for this hesitation eluded him. He wasn't bolstering his courage to waltz in and talk to the occupant—that wasn't allowed and he had no intention of shattering trust with anyone else. Nor was he listening in on what was happening within, at least not on purpose. Even when he strained his ears, the ward remained eerily quiet. It was as if they'd all fled when Tony was taken away.

After his walk, he returned to his room with no company beyond Dum-E and Butterfingers. His mother was coming to visit tomorrow after spending all day yesterday here with him, and his father had yet to initiate any sort of contact after the operation. Tony pulled out his phone and opened the group chat, hoping to see more messages to update him on everyone, but after it was clear Bruce wasn't revealing any more information about Tony, the texts just stopped.

He started typing: "Hey guys. I'm sorry to freak you all out like that, but I've been a little busy nearly dying and then recovering from open heart surgery and haven't found the time to text until now. Also I have a robot heart now."

As soon as he concluded that sentence he forcefully deleted every single word. He could tell them the whole truth, but he didn't want their pity. More precisely, he didn't want their pity to be what drew them back together after all this drama. Tony wanted to earn back their trust and appreciation on his own, without any help from his fuckup of a heart.

~0~

Happy's was the first familiar face he saw after being transferred back from ICU. Tony felt like weeping and shouting all at once. Weeping because he desperately missed his friends despite knowing they probably didn't feel the same way, and shouting because Happy and his colleagues held the power to eliminate the isolation protocol and still hadn't done so. "How are you doing?" the nurse asked warmly, taking the seat beside his bed that his mother usually occupied.

"Not great, if I'm being honest," Tony said.

"What hurts?"

"No, pain control's fine. I'm just so done with all this."

"I understand how frustrating it must be."

Tony doubted Happy could ever understand the different dimensions of stress he was currently facing. He'd thought returning to his room and being physically near his fellow patients would make him feel better, but the continued stagnation on the ward just hammered home the fact that his presence here didn't really affect anyone. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe it never had.

"Is everybody okay? I saw in our group chat that a lot of bad things are happening."

"Tony, you know I can't tell you that," Happy sighed.

"Can you at least assure me that nobody's about to die?"

"Nobody's about to die. But you had us really worried for a while. You look so much better now."

"Glad to hear it," Tony said sardonically. He couldn't help himself; his patience was wearing thin, "Are you here for a reason, or just to attempt to placate me?"

"I brought you this," he announced, holding up a small silver chain.

"What is it?"

"Your medical alert bracelet. They finished the custom engraving."

"Great, another permanent accessory," he scoffed.

"Tony, it's not a big deal. Lots of people wear them. And it's necessary. If someone tries to give you CPR…"

"They'll just crush the pump in my chest and kill me, I know. I just don't really want to be reminded of that unfortunate fact every time I look at my hands."

"I'm sorry, but it's necessary."

"I know," Tony grumbled, but his held his left hand out and let Happy fasten the bracelet around his wrist. It fit almost tightly enough to feel constrictive, but it needed to be so he couldn't work it over his hand. Although Tony suspected he could work the latch with one hand if he really gave it a go. But if anyone caught him doing that, they might just solder it shut.

"It's also time to change your driveline dressing."

Tony blanched. The last thing he wanted to do right now was endure another round of that. Happy ignored his obvious discomfort and handed him a surgical mask, which he reluctantly strapped behind his ears. He decided not to watch this time, having already memorized the procedure from the four times he'd already observed. How many times had Happy done this sort of thing? VADs certainly weren't common, and Happy didn't specialize in cardiac surgery patients. Though he supposed it probably wasn't all that different than doing a port access site or any other line that entered the body.

Tony grit his teeth as Happy began poking around the ultra-sensitized skin. Even with the adhesive remover, peeling off the bandage felt like being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles each laced with mild poison. He'd suffered the touch of more strange hands over the past few days than in his entire life and it had depleted his reserves of patience. The hushed whooshing sound of the VAD pumping his blood for him, which he'd listened to nonstop his every waking moment since the surgery, now roared in his ears. Parker screaming, Natasha crying, and Steve yelling at him joined the chorus, creating an agonizing concert in his head. He tasted ash, thick and heavy on his tongue like it had felt in his dream when he watched his friends dissolve and leave him behind. Happy's gloved finger brushed against a particularly raw area and Tony snapped.

"Stop!" he cried, putting his hands up to push Happy away.

The nurse backed away in alarm, but the painful sensation still rippled across Tony's abdomen. "I'm sorry. I can go slower, be more careful…"

"No! I'm done!"

"Tony, you do have to let me finish. I can't leave it uncovered."

"Just stop touching me!"

He abandoned all hope of staunching the tears. They soaked into the mask which did nothing to quiet his sniffling. Everything hurt; his head pounded with the voices of his friends, his chest jolted with every quivering breath, and a throbbing itch wound its way outwards from the hypersensitive exit site.

"Talk to me, Tony," Happy urged.

"It's all too much," he said despondently.

"What is?"

"Everything! This insane replacement heart, this stupid lockdown, not knowing how any of my friends are doing because they all stopped communicating and I can't go see them, wondering if my father is disappointed I didn't die." All the things that had eaten him up for the past four days came spilling out before Tony could stop them.

"Slow down, one thing at a time. Tony, nobody's in immediate danger anymore. I can't give you details, but I promise I would never let any of you die alone, do you hear me? None of us would let that happen."

"But I almost did," he choked out.

Happy fell silent. Because it was true. Would they have reversed the ruling if Tony had gotten any worse than he did? And if they reversed it, what would his friends have done? Parker was preoccupied with his own battle, Steve was livid with him, Natasha seemed too afraid to do much of anything, and everyone else pretty much deferred to Steve. Maybe Bruce would have stopped by to see him off, but Tony could never know for sure.

"I know it's scary," Happy began. Tony hoped he'd prepared an exceptionally good speech because he doubted anything less could alleviate the anguish. "I've seen so many kids fear for their lives that it makes me sick sometimes. Because it's not fair. No kid should have to worry about any of that stuff, but you guys do. But you also gain an appreciation for life that most people your age could never achieve. You understand what it's worth only once you almost lose it."

"Like a TV remote?"

"Yeah…I guess that's a fair comparison. But I hope you value life a bit more than that."

"I do. I'm just not thrilled at everything I'll have to do now to maintain it," Tony admitted.

"I know it seems like a lot now. But, remember all the things that seemed like a lot to do by yourself when you were little? Things like going to the bathroom, making toast, buckling into your car seat. When you first learn to do something for yourself it can be overwhelming, but eventually it just becomes a habit. This all will too, I promise."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. Tony, you're not the only one who has to deal with more than the average person. Think about some of the things your friends here do on a daily basis. I'm sure when they started it was terrifying, but they've learned to accept it as a part of them."

Tony thought about Bruce forcefully maintaining the schedule of a soldier, Thor suffering seizures and their aftermath almost every day, the cancer kids facing a slew of varyingly horrible side effects, Wanda enduring day after day without her twin sister by her side, Steve subjecting himself to raucous coughing twice daily…and he recognized how self-absorbed he was being. He had no right to insist his suffering was unbearable when almost everyone he knew faced their own equivalent misery.

"Finish it," he blurted out.

"What?"

"The driveline. Just get it over with."

"Oh, alright." Happy resanitized his hands and got back to work. He took extra care to be gentle this time, which Tony greatly appreciated. Before he knew it, Happy stuck down the last edge of the dressing and unmasked. Tony did the same and wiped his face dry with the back of his hand. The silver bracelet glinted in the harsh lighting.

"Can—Can I be alone now?" Tony requested. He sensed there would be a longer conversation likely involving the Falcon, but for now he didn't think he could endure company.

"Of course. If you need anything, you know where your call button is." Happy gathered up the materials from the dressing change and left, easing the door shut behind him. Tony took a deep breath and let the exhale drag out until he couldn't anymore. He needed a distraction, something normal to do. Upon his bedside table, the Leonardo da Vinci book sat where he'd left it last time he picked it up. Tony stood and took the book to his chair. He put his earbuds in and started playing AC/DC at low volume to drown out the sound of his own blood pumping. Despite the backpack of batteries on his lap, he felt more normal than he had in over a week.

~0~

Steve heard the commotion of movement through the wall he shared with Tony's room. That meant one of two things. One: the other boy had returned from intensive care. Or two: he'd died and another patient had already taken his place. Once the initial sound of movement died down, the room remained eerily quiet. At one point he thought he heard footsteps in the hallway, but he couldn't identify whose.

He needed to know who'd taken up residence beside him. If someone else had taken Tony's place in that room, that meant the unspeakable had occurred. He still didn't know anything beyond the fact that as of Thursday night Tony was in the ICU. That was four days ago. Plenty of time for Tony to recover and return to his room…or for him to perish. Alone.

Just as Steve began working up the nerve to say to hell with the rules and knock on the door, the shouting began. "Stop!" Though it was distorted by anger and exhaustion, he instantly recognized the voice as Tony's. "No! I'm done!" What was going on next door? Who was he yelling at, and what was he talking about?

"Just stop touching me!" The raw agony in the voice made Steve's breath catch in his throat. Tony was suffering less than ten feet away from him and Steve could do absolutely nothing to help. He couldn't hear the voice of the other person in the room with him, though he suspected it was a nurse. Steve pressed his ear to the wall, which enabled him to pick up the noise of hushed conversation, but not clearly enough to pick out individual words. He listened until he heard the door to Tony's room open and close, suggesting he was now alone. Steve made up his mind.

He cracked open his door a tiny fraction and scanned the hallway for signs of patrolling nurses. Fortunately, all appeared to be occupied elsewhere; there was nobody in sight. He needed this to be a quick, stealthy trip, so he disconnected his port from the IV line—a skill he picked up years ago after watching so many nurses do it for almost his entire life—and skipped out on donning his oxygen. At rest, he could manage without it for a while, and he could handle up to five minutes or so of activity before he began to notice the adverse effects.

Steve double-checked the hallways again before slipping out of his room and easing the door shut silently behind him. He walked the few steps to next door and almost silently knocked, receiving a quiet, "It's open," in response. He gently turned the knob and opened the door, terrified of what he might find inside.

"Steve?"

He breathed a sigh of relief that jammed in his throat when his gaze fell on Tony. He was seated in a chair beside his bed with a book in his hand, the one about Leonardo da Vinci he always read when he was bored. He wore his hospital gown with the opening facing front, revealing exactly why he'd been in intensive care.

White tape barely disguised the ten inch incision running up the center of his chest. Steve had seen plenty of surgical scars before, some of his own and some of their other friends', but nothing he'd seen even came close to this, with the possible exception of Clint. But he'd been so young that they faded nicely. This was fresh.

Another dressing covered a spot on his abdomen, from which snaked a thick wire leading into a pack perched on Tony's lap. God, what had they done to him? The last time Steve saw him, his defibrillator had just fired, but that just meant it had done its job and fixed his heart rhythm, right? Somehow, in the few days following their mandated separation, he'd deteriorated enough to require…whatever this was.

"What—what happened?" Steve stammered. He wanted to rush forward to comfort him, but also knew that in all likelihood his support wouldn't be welcome.

Tony looked up at him quizzically. He repeated Steve's question bitterly, "What happened? Well Rogers, what happened was, my heart—you know, the one that _sucks ass_ —didn't cope too well with the stress of everything you did after Parker." Steve blanched. That wasn't exactly the answer he'd been looking for. "Can I ask you something, Rogers?" Tony questioned. Steve despised the choice to address him by his last name; if asked, he would say it was impersonal and disregarding of the weeks they'd spent constructing a valued friendship. However, the real reason he hated it had more to do with the memories dredged up by the nickname, memories of the last person to call him that, and of what ultimately happened to her. When Steve didn't answer quickly enough, Tony repeated his question. Steve bit his lip and nodded, hesitant to hear this inquiry.

"Now, my memory might be a little foggy after six hours on the table and more morphine than I've ever seen in my life, so correct me if I'm wrong. You said to me—and this was after I informed you I wasn't even supposed to have visitors because my heart had recently required _forceful restarting_ —you said to me that I seemed happy to leave Parker in the hands of his own doctors. You did say that to me, yes?"

"Yes," Steve sighed, no longer able to look Tony in the eye. He dropped his gaze to his feet and shuffled nervously.

"Look at me," Tony instructed. When Steve didn't comply, he repeated more urgently, "Look at me when I am speaking to you." Steve forcibly jerked his head back up. "Look at me, and riddle me this. Do I look happy?"

Of course, the answer was no, but Steve feared what might happen next if he responded at all. He remained silent. "Do I look happy, Rogers?" Tony asked with more venom than before.

"No, you don't look happy," Steve admitted. He looked completely worn out, done in, and fed up. But a glint of something dangerous shimmered just below the surface of Tony's blustering rage.

"Very good. Now, I told you we needed to let the experts do their jobs." He rose from the chair and staggered two steps closer. Steve edged forward to coax him into sitting back down, but Tony stopped him with a leveling glare.

"Tony…" Steve began, but the other boy refused to let him continue. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach warned him something dangerous loomed. This was reinforced when Tony reached for his left arm and violently ripped out the IV line—something they'd all been warned countless times never to do. Blood oozed down his forearm and dripped around his hand, the red trails forming an intricately laced gauntlet. Steve instinctively shuffled a step back, afraid of what the person before him was capable of even in such a weakened state.

"Because you couldn't keep your nose out of it, we were all alone. Some of us came closer to meeting Thanatos than ever before, and guess what? _You weren't there._ Nobody was," Tony snarled, honing in on Steve like a dog that finally cornered a rabbit. He unzipped his pack and pulled out what looked like a small remote control wired to two large batteries. The third wire…that was the one feeding back into his body.

"Tony don't…" Steve warned, but he could tell Tony had no intention of listening to him. He wrapped his hand around the cord connecting him to the controller and plucked it out without second thought, thrusting the pile of equipment into Steve's hands. The two locked gazes and stared for nearly a minute, paralyzed with the implications of what Tony had just done. Steve watched the light in his eyes wink out a split second before he collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was genuinely one of my favorite chapters to write, even though it hurt to see these characters suffering and at odds with each other. Kudos to anyone who can pinpoint exactly what scene I was paralleling at the end there. Also...sorry for dropping another heavy cliffhanger I guess?


	39. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. You guys completely blew me away with your response to last chapter. Although, I suppose I should've expected to be inundated with more comments than usual given what I left you with. Now, I'll keep this author's note short so you can witness the resolution of the cliffhanger. Enjoy!

"Jesus Christ, what have you done?" Steve cried, racing to smash Tony's call button while simultaneously screaming for help. He glanced at the pile of tech Tony had forced into his hands, but had no idea how any of it worked or what to do with it to fix this. For all he knew, Tony had just killed himself right before his eyes. Happy and Sharon frantically burst through the door after hearing Steve shout. They looked first to Tony's limp form, and then to Steve clutching the equipment intended to keep him alive.

"Steve, what the fuck did you do?" Happy shouted. He and Sharon hoisted Tony back onto his bed while Steve watched helplessly.

"I didn't do anything!" he insisted. "Tony unplugged himself and threw all this at me." Steve held up the equipment and Happy snatched it back, reattaching the wire to the controlling device. Sharon worked on staunching the blood from his torn-out IV line while also feeling for a pulse.

"He won't have one," Happy reminded her.

"He doesn't have a pulse?" Steve panicked. It didn't take a medical professional to know that was not a good thing.

"It's normal. The pump doesn't beat like a real heart, it circulates blood continuously. But I think we got it reattached in time. Steve, how long was he disconnected before we got here?"

"Only two or three minutes, I think."

"That's not too long," Happy assured him. He looked over every inch of Tony's equipment and incisions, ensuring nothing had been damaged or reopened in the chaos. Steve chewed on his lip while watching Tony's chest rise and fall reassuringly. "Talk to me," Happy commanded. "You can start with why you're violating the rules."

"I'm sorry," Steve spluttered. "I heard voices through the wall we share, and I spent hours wondering if they belonged to Tony and his family or some other people because maybe Tony died in ICU with none of us there to see him off."

"How did you even know he was there?"

"Bruce told us in the group chat. I have no idea how he knew."

"We should have expected them to communicate in any way possible after we initiated the new protocol," Sharon sighed.

Steve continued, "I came in here to apologize for everything I did after Parker, but he just started talking and I couldn't get a word in. Then he stood up, ripped out his line and unplugged himself. It's my fault. I shouldn't have come, I—I upset him." It wasn't until he finally finished speaking that Steve noticed the tears silently dripping down his face.

Content that Tony was stable, Happy left his bedside to embrace Steve. He buried his head in the nurse's shoulder and continued to cry. "I messed up," he shuddered.

"That's okay," Happy told him. "Everyone does from time to time."

"But most mistakes don't almost kill people."

"You might be right about that, but you know what else? Most mistakes don't stem from intentions as good-natured as yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve questioned, feeling the beginnings of breathlessness from the force of his weeping.

"You didn't mean any harm. We all know that. Sometimes, things just snowball and before we know it, the stakes are infinitely higher."

"I could have done better," Steve spat, his ire directed exclusively at himself.

"We all could have. I should have known that separating you all would do more harm than good."

"Does that mean you're lifting the lockdown?"

"I'll get back to you on that. For right now, let's get you back to your room—and back on oxygen."

Steve allowed Happy to lead him back to his own room and thread the cannula under his nose and behind his ears. In all the chaos, he hadn't noticed the severity of his shortness of breath. Happy sat with him for a few minutes and watched his color gradually return. Steve sagged with the effort of holding himself upright, completely drained from the physical and emotional stress of the day. At Happy's request, he lay down against the head of the bed instead of sitting up on the side.

"You said everyone makes mistakes from time to time," Steve said. "Even you?"

"Of course."

"Give me an example."

"Of a time I made a mistake?" Steve nodded. "Okay, let me think on it for a bit." Happy paused, gazing at the wall searching his memory for mistakes that would make half-decent stories. He decided on one involving someone Steve knew personally. "Did you know Natasha hated me when she first got here?"

"What? Nat adores you."

"She does now, but not at first."

"What did you do?"

"Well, you know her blanket?"

"The black and red one that her mom made for her?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"What did you do?"

"I took it away from her. Pried it from her hands while she begged me not to."

Steve glanced at Happy disbelievingly. Natasha loved that blanket more than anything else in this hospital; it was practically the only reminder of home she had with her. And Happy had ripped it away? Steve was honestly surprised he lived to tell this tale. "Why?"

"It was her first day here," Happy explained. "She didn't speak a word of English, and I found her on the floor of her room just a few hours after starting chemo, snuggling this blanket I didn't recognize. I figured that she brought it from home, but of course I couldn't trust it was clean. Certainly not clean enough to be safe for a neutropenic kid. So I didn't waste time attempting to explain it to her, just took it away."

"And she let you live?"

"If she hadn't been sick and scared out of her mind, I'll bet she wouldn't have. I'll never forget the look on her face when I came back after taking that. I've never seen such hatred in such young eyes."

Steve, who'd been on the verge of laughter hearing this story, instantly sobered. He'd looked at Tony exactly like that. With hatred in his gaze. And he hadn't truly regretted it until he learned his friend was in critical condition.

"I did give it back the next day after we sanitized it," Happy continued. "And I think she forgave me."

"If she hadn't, you would know."

"Yeah, I certainly would." He smiled wistfully, then patted Steve affectionately on the knee. "You rest up, and I'll update you on the status of the new rules, okay?"

"Okay."

~0~

Tony awoke to find both Rhodes and Wilson in his room. Not a good sign. The doctors here only tag-teamed like this in dire situations. He sat himself up and followed the wire with his eyes, finding himself plugged into the wall instead of batteries. Evidently someone had saved him from dying, but he didn't know who.

"What's up?" he asked the two doctors, shooting for nonchalant but missing by a mile. He sounded more like a burglar caught with his hands inside the safe.

"What's up? Thankfully your vitals," Rhodes stated. Tony hadn't expected such a vitriolic tone from the cardiologist.

"Tony, we need to have a serious discussion about what happened today," the Falcon began. He sat down beside the bed, already fixing Tony with that piercing gaze of his. This would not be an in-and-out conversation, he knew. "First of all, do you remember what you did?" Tony nodded. Of course he remembered. "Can you explain to us why you did it?"

Now that was a more difficult question. Frankly, Tony didn't completely understand his own motivations. Seeing Steve's face in his room reminded him of the loathing glower his friend had shot at him the last time he visited. And with that came a rush of progressively more horrible memories. Natasha crying. Parker screaming and thrashing. The shock of his defibrillator. Unplugging himself was a touch too dramatic, even for Tony, but the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions had overwhelmed him until he wasn't quite in control of his own actions anymore.

"No, I don't think I can explain it," Tony admitted.

"Is that because you don't know or you just can't articulate it?" Dr. Wilson inquired. Tony noticed he'd pulled out a notebook and pen and was scribbling notes every time Tony opened his mouth.

"A little bit of both."

"Can you at least attempt to articulate it? Anything is better than nothing in helping us understand what happened."

"I just—I sorta had this insane need to show Steve what had become of me since we last saw each other," Tony explained.

"And him seeing the incisions and the driveline didn't accomplish that?"

"Not exactly."

"What happened leading up to the incident? Did you attempt a civil conversation before things escalated?"

"Kinda. Mostly I talked at him. I think he's done enough talking."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It was him talking to Dr. van Dyne that got us into this whole mess in the first place. If he'd just let the professionals do their jobs, none of this would have happened."

"None of what?"

"The lockdown. And all the ensuing bad luck."

"What bad luck?"

"Natasha got a fever, then Thor had a crazy long seizure. Nick's gonna go blind. And Parker keeps getting worse. Meanwhile I ended up…well, like this."

"And you think all of that is a direct result of Steve's interference?"

Now that he phrased it like that it sounded ridiculous. "I guess not. But I can't believe it's coincidence that so many people took a turn for the worse after everything that happened with Steve."

"I suppose that is difficult to wrap your head around. But suppose these events are unrelated—because in all likelihood they are. Are you sure there's nothing else driving this conflict between you and Steve?"

Tony thought about it for a while. He'd never stopped to consider that he didn't exclusively blame Steve for causing the enforced separation and everyone's misfortune. It would be irrational to attribute all of it to one person. Everyone contributed somewhat, including Tony. And he had no proof that being isolated from each other caused the various medical crises. Then why was he so upset with Steve? A thought occurred to him, but he didn't want to entertain it. If it proved true, it meant Tony was more reliant on his peers for validation than he'd ever been in his entire life.

"Before the surgery, I knew in the back of my mind there was a decent chance I would die. And I knew no one was allowed to visit each other, but a part of me hoped that Steve might break the rules for me. Obviously, he didn't—until just now. But I can't help but wonder… if it had been anyone else who suddenly stopped communicating in the group chat…if it was Natasha, or Bucky, or even Parker…would he have broken the rules for them? At some point I think I convinced myself that he was content to let me die with our last interaction being a spiteful argument."

Wilson put down his pen and lowered the notebook. Tony stammered, not quite believing that those words had just left his mouth in that order. But he must have meant them; otherwise they never would have been uttered. Did he really think Steve wouldn't care if they permanently parted ways after an interaction like that? Maybe at the time he did. Not anymore. Even though the other boy hadn't had a chance to say anything when he last came in here, Tony knew that he'd broken out of lockdown to apologize. No other mission was important enough to make Steve disobey rules. And instead of allowing him to make amends, Tony had done nothing but shout and demean him, then give him the scare of his life by nearly ending his own. Now Tony owed Steve an apology.

"Tony, while I don't personally believe this is the case, there are many people that would interpret this incident as a suicide attempt."

"People on the committee in charge of the transplant list," Rhodes added. "Such a clear demonstration of disregard for your life support does not look good in a transplant candidate."

"Does that mean I'll never get a heart?" Tony asked, now petrified that he'd succeeded in ending his own life, just not quite as expeditiously as he'd considered. With no hope of an eventual heart transplant, his days were numbered.

"No. It doesn't mean that you'll never get one. But there is a risk you'll be pushed lower on the list."

"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't entirely sure who he intended to apologize to, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"The only person you need to apologize to is yourself," Dr. Wilson told him.

"And Steve," Tony sighed.

"Yes, that's probably in order."

"But we're still on lockdown, and this is too important to do via text."

Rhodes and Wilson glanced at each other knowingly, leaving Tony hopelessly confused. "Think on it for a little bit, and then reevaluate what's possible." With that cryptic remark, they left the room. Tony puzzled over what they'd said, but it didn't become clear until a visit from Heimdall an hour later.

~0~

"We're free!"

The message appeared first in the group chat, and then shouted gleefully in person as friends reunited after days apart. The news even managed to cheer up Natasha, who'd been released from isolation but still on a clear liquid diet after her surgery—and grumpy because of it. Clint spent the rest of the day keeping her company. Nick visited each and every one of them to tell the same stupid joke. Everyone laughed at it. Not necessarily because it was funny, but because they were just giddy to see each other again.

Even Bruce deviated from his regimented routine long enough to stop by Tony's room and apologize for telling the group about his condition. "I'm so sorry, Tony, I know I promised, but they were all going bonkers wondering what happened to you, especially Steve, and I felt like I had a duty to at least let them know you weren't rudely ignoring them," he rambled, fidgeting with his glasses like he always did when he was anxious. Tony listened to him with half a smile on his face. Only Bruce would be so loyal.

"Bruce, it's okay," Tony assured him. "You did the right thing. I was wrong to keep it from them."

"You—you're not mad?"

"No."

"Thank goodness."

"You're the best," Tony reminded him. People like Bruce Banner needed to hear that more often.

Quill visited Thor and patiently had a conversation. The boy still had trouble getting all his words out in a timely manner, an impediment Wong said might stick with him for life. But he was still the same Thor. They hadn't attempted to reinsert Parker's tube after he ripped it out, but when Bucky went to check on him he found the kid nibbling on a piece of dry toast. Parker reported that after intensified therapy with Hope and Dr. Wilson over the past few days he was on track again after the tube fiasco, back to meeting his goals without it.

Tony knew what he needed to do. He stood and switched himself over from the wall to batteries, carrying the backpack with him as he set off for Steve's room next door. He knocked gently and heard Steve invite him in. Tony opened the door and took two steps in before stopping, unwilling to go too far into Steve's space. He had his sketchpad open and a pencil in hand, but he held it away from Tony so he couldn't see what the drawing depicted.

Forcing himself to plow ahead before he chickened out, Tony stated, "I came to apologize."

"For what?" Steve asked.

"For what I said…and then did, when you came into my room. I overreacted big time."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did. There was no reason for me to do something so brash. I thought I was mad at you, but really I was just afraid that you wouldn't care if I died."

"Of course I would care! I'd be devastated."

"I know."

"Tony, as soon as you passed out, I just completely lost my mind. I didn't know what any of that equipment did, and for all I knew you'd just died because you detached it. I was so scared…I snuck in to apologize for everything I did, and it looked like I'd just lost my chance."

"Well, you didn't. I just postponed it a little," Tony chuckled.

"I'm sorry. You were just looking out for Parker, and I turned you into a villain. I'm just…I've just never been good at being unable to fix things. I thought if I started enough fires I could burn away everything ailing Parker, everything ailing all of us. But I got carried away, and I hurt you in the process. I should have listened to you."

"Asking them to consider other options isn't inherently a bad thing. You think I didn't want a second opinion when they proposed this?" He indicated the bag of VAD supplies in his hand.

"We good now?" Steve asked hopefully.

"We are great," Tony replied. "…if you show me what you're drawing."

"It's not finished yet."

"I don't care. Flip it around."

"No, you come over here and look at it." Steve patted the empty section of bed by his side. Tony strode over and sat down beside him. He looked at the sketchbook and his breath caught in his throat when he saw what Steve had been working on. It depicted the two of them together, but unlike most of Steve's art, he hadn't erased the signs of illness. He still wore oxygen, and he'd added a driveline snaking out from the hem of Tony's shirt into a backpack. But despite all that, they looked happy.

"I guess I wanted this one to say that…health isn't everything. Even without it, we can still enjoy life. We might just have to work a little harder at it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *everyone breathes collective sigh of relief* I think we were all a little desperate for the comfort half of hurt/comfort after all that.


	40. The Other Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put another Prequel Preview here, since the last one was one of the few cliffhanger-free chapters in this part of the story, but I decided to do something a little different. I'm just going to leave a prequel posting schedule. Now, I haven't finished writing all these as you can probably tell, so the last 4 aren't in any sort of order, but the first 5 shouldn't shift around too much. I'm planning to stick to the same update schedule as I've been doing for this story: Tuesday afternoon/evenings and Saturday mornings with the occasional extra chapter thrown in on a Thursday (Eastern Time)
> 
> 1\. Plokhaya Krov (Natasha): 5 chapters
> 
> 2\. Lightning in a Bottleneck (Thor): 7 chapters
> 
> 3\. Quiet Minds (Bruce): probably 2-3 chapters, I haven't quite finished it yet
> 
> 4\. The White Wolf (Bucky): 6 chapters
> 
> 5\. The Thorns of Sixty Five Roses (Steve): 20 chapters
> 
> 6\. They Call Me Parker (Peter P): there is no chapter count for this one yet. I have about 20,000 words written, but none of the scenes are in order. By my best estimate, it'll end up somewhere in the 8-12 chapter range.
> 
> 7\. untitled Tony prequel
> 
> 8\. untitled Clint prequel
> 
> 9\. untitled Nick prequel

Tony spent as much time as possible traveling around the hall to see his friends, repeatedly offering the same apology for causing them worry by vanishing from the group chat without a word. Each of them forgave him without even pausing to think about it, though Nick requested he first weigh in on what color his glass eyes should be. Tony told him that solid black seemed the best way to go, but only if he wore sunglasses and dramatically took them off only at opportune moments. Natasha insisted he teach her everything about his VAD equipment in case she ever found herself in a situation where she might need to help him with it. Tony doubted that would ever happen, but appeased her and taught her the basics because he knew she wouldn't relent until he did so. She learned it even quicker than Tony had.

He stepped into Parker's room and before he could offer an apology for everything that had happened, Parker delivered his own, "I'm sorry. You all saw me in a really bad place and I instigated the worst argument and worst ward-wide punishment Gravesen has ever seen. Because of me, you all had to face some terrifying things all on your own," he gazed at Tony's equipment as he said this, "And I just need you to know that I want to take it back so badly. You guys are my best friends—my family—and I accused you of terrible things—"

Tony cut him off. He couldn't handle one more word of Parker blaming himself for something that wasn't remotely his fault. "Stop that nonsense right now. You did not cause this, certainly not by yourself. We all made mistakes and many of us suffered for them, but no one is wholly to blame for what happened. Especially not you, Parker. You—all we ever wanted was to support and protect you, but things got out of hand. I'm so, so sorry." Tony couldn't help himself. Despite knowing it would jar his incisions, he raced forward and wrapped his arms around Parker, clutching the boy to his chest with all the strength he possessed. He didn't even feel the pain, just the warmth of Parker's presence and the knowledge that he was going to be all right.

"This is nice," Parker squeaked. He paused for a moment, locked in Tony's embrace before asking, "Wait, didn't you just go to Warsaw? Is this hurting you?" Tony didn't answer him, internally giggling at the memory of them relating cities to surgeries like that, but Parker refused to be ignored. "Tony, am I hurting you?" he insisted. "Let me go, I don't want to hurt you."

"No. You're not hurting me," he said, though he knew his surgeon would have scolded him for offering tight hugs so soon afterwards. He released Parker and sighed contentedly; things were finally on the upswing after such a drawn out downward spiral into despair. The universe had run out of curveballs to throw at him. Or so he thought.

~0~

Both of his future 'caregivers' needed to learn everything about his VAD too. You know, just in case he passed out and couldn't tell them why his secondary heart was failing and how to fix it. Tony saw his father for the first time since before the surgery, when he'd professed his paternal love for the first time in Tony's life. He had no idea what to expect of the interaction immediately after that.

Stark men hated to demonstrate weakness, and though Tony couldn't exactly help it in this situation, Howard could easily control how much of it he witnessed. So far he'd done that by avoiding Gravesen like it was still in the midst of an outbreak. He blanched upon first catching sight of his son's state, mortified by the massive incision and visible driveline. Yet he also seemed impressed by Tony's improved color, even without any oxygen supplement. The VAD was getting its job done pretty darn well, Tony had to admit. They'd made the right decision.

"How are you doing?" his father asked hesitantly, wringing his hands and attempting to focus anywhere in the room but at Tony.

"Much better than earlier. Thank you for coming," Tony said sheepishly, still blown away by the fact his dad was actually here and not hiding behind work excuses.

"Well, your mother told me how important it was for both of us to learn about all of this," he explained. Tony noticed how he definitively did not mention any of it by name or even look at Tony. If Howard barely wanted to acknowledge him, how would he effectively learn how to manage him and all his new equipment? Tony both feared and anticipated how this session would go. He watched his father throughout the entire explanation, since he'd already heard it all before he didn't need to learn.

Howard Stark was an engineer, first and foremost, and the founder of the leading weapons developer in the country. It shouldn't have been difficult for him to wrap his head around the relatively simple machine keeping Tony's blood circulating, and clearly it wasn't. He seemed uncomfortable yet not unfamiliar with the information being presented to him. Tony also noticed he kept his wife's hand wrapped in a tight embrace, which seemed rather strange to Tony. His parents were rarely overly affectionate with each other. He looked closer and recognized this was not a romantic handhold, but one intended to provide comfort. But who was comforting whom, he couldn't tell.

The strangest part of the whole interaction, by far, was when they progressed to dressing changes. Howard offered to try it hands-on with a nurse's guidance—just in case he ever found himself in the position where he'd have to do it. Tony's eyebrows shot up into his hairline upon hearing this. His father, who'd Tony had never seen treat anything besides his inventions with tenderness, was about to have his hands right up against the most vulnerable part of Tony's body. He gulped, the nerves making him so nauseous that he feared he might actually vomit.

Pull it together. He was acting like a physical abuse victim—something he certainly was _not_ —and he needed to calm himself down before Howard noticed Tony was visibly sweating at the prospect of him touching his driveline. Tony clamped his eyes shut for three seconds before opening them again and watching the nurse show Howard the steps.

The conspicuous absence of intense focus on his father's face surprised Tony. He always looked a certain way when he was taking in new information, but he didn't look like that now. If he wasn't focused on learning this new routine, what was going on inside his head? Tony would never let him near the driveline if he didn't pay attention during this lesson. Maybe that was his intention: pretend to learn so he could purposefully mess it up later and hurt Tony. No, that was stupid. His father would never try to cause him harm; he just didn't react with much sympathy when he got hurt or sick otherwise.

All his suppositions flew out the window when they actually started working on the dressing. Howard moved to the correct step before being prompted, as if he already knew how to do this. But that was impossible. Where would a weapons manufacturer have learned how to change a sterile dressing? Tony looked to his mother for answers, but she either didn't recognize his confusion beneath his mask or she didn't acknowledge it. Howard's hands went through the motions with practiced ease, and somehow he irritated the exit site and surrounding skin far less than any of the nurses had. Tony was mystified.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" he finally asked when the change was complete and he could take his mask off.

"What do you mean?" Howard feigned ignorance, but Tony could tell he was only pretending.

"You've obviously done that before."

"No." Howard sat back down next to Maria and pointedly fixed his gaze anywhere but Tony.

"Yes. I know what you're like when you're learning something new, and that was definitely not it. Why have you been acting so damn weird?" Tony asked irately, fed up with not understanding this uncharacteristic behavior. His father had always been somewhat distant and cold, never outwardly showing affection, but ever since Tony had been admitted to the hospital Howard seemingly couldn't even bear to be around him. The stream of excuses from his mother flowed constantly whenever she visited, always citing some work-related reason for his father not to be here. Tony failed to imagine what authority could possible prevent his father—the owner of the company—from missing work to visit his critically ill son, so the only logical conclusion was that he didn't want to be here. His body language now reinforced that conclusion. He reminded Tony of a caged animal searching desperately for a weak spot in the cage from which to escape.

Howard didn't answer him, or even look at him, so Tony reiterated his question, "Why are you so determined to ignore the fact that you have a son?"

"I don't have _a_ son," he sighed almost inaudibly.

Tony fumed. "What the hell do you mean, you don't have a son? I'm literally _right in front of you!_ "

"I don't have a son," he repeated. "I have two."

Tony's pulse would have stuttered—if he still had one. As it was, his brain nearly imploded at the repercussions of this statement. How could Howard Stark have two sons? How could Tony have a brother that he'd never met or even heard mention of? He attempted to voice these questions, but the connection between his brain and his mouth failed to properly relay the signals. All that escaped his lips was a meager, "W-What?"

"I have two sons."

"Where's the other one? More importantly, _who_ is the other one, and why haven't you mentioned him before?" Tony asked, finally finding his words.

"It's complicated," Howard sighed.

"Clearly."

"His name is Arno."

"Boy am I glad you gave that name to him and not me."

"Do not speak ill of Arno," his father hissed, and for the first time in his life Tony was genuinely afraid his father might hit him. He'd never witnessed this degree of rage emanating from his father, though it appeared mixed with another emotion that Tony couldn't quite identify.

"Sorry," Tony immediately mumbled.

"Arno was born fourteen years before you."

"To the same mother?"

"No."

"Wait, you were married before?"

"Yes."

"Does Mom know?"

"Yes, I was aware of his first marriage when we started dating," his mom informed him.

"Did you also know that he already had a kid?" Tony asked her.

"Anthony, let me finish," his father said sternly. Tony fell silent. "I met your mother a few months after the divorce. It wasn't an ugly divorce by any means; we both knew that there was nothing keeping us together anymore. I wasn't sure that I would marry again, but when I met Maria I made up my mind. We didn't intend to have a kid after we got married, but she was so happy when she found out she was expecting that I couldn't bring myself to do anything that might dampen her spirits. Telling her about Arno certainly would have done just that, so I didn't.

"But then I saw you for the first time, and you looked so much like him that I was afraid. I was afraid that loving you like I loved Arno would endanger my sanity. After that realization, I told your mother everything. I told her because I knew some of my behavior as a father would be questionable if she didn't know the context. I told her everything and made her promise that you would grow up not knowing any of it."

"Why?" Tony asked. He still didn't understand why knowledge of a kid from a previous marriage must be kept such a secret. It wasn't exactly an uncommon scenario. An older half brother actually sounded kinda cool.

"I didn't want you to live your entire life preoccupied with what might have been, as I've lived the last twenty years of mine."

"What do you mean, 'What might have been?' Did your first wife get full custody in the divorce and ban you from ever seeing your son again?"

"No, Tony. There was no custody battle during the divorce."

"Then where's Arno?"

"Arno died when he was ten years old," Howard said pointedly.

"What? How?" Tony questioned. He sensed that the answer to this would explain his father's behavior over the last sixteen years, and the last few weeks particularly.

"Leukemia."

Tony's neurons stopped firing completely. He zoned out, the hushed sound of his VAD continuously pumping blood washing over him. His father, the formidable Howard Stark, had lost a child to cancer, and then he'd almost lost another to heart failure. Tony finally understood the forced emotional distance, the lack of 'I love you' and the meek, almost fearful disposition his father assumed whenever he came here. Was this the same hospital in which his elder brother had succumbed? Tony didn't need to ask to know the answer. Howard Stark wouldn't have taken his child anywhere but the best, and there was nowhere better than Gravesen.

Now, his father's behavior regarding the other patients here made much more sense. Why he couldn't even bear to look at Natasha and had warned Tony not to associate with her. Looking back, Tony couldn't believe he'd actually fallen for the excuse of her Russian nationality frightening his father. Howard's business may be in competition with Russia, but that gave him no reason to ban his son from interacting with a twelve-year-old girl who happened to live there. His actions during the Vibranin crisis, acquiescing to donating to fix it after Tony explained to him what it meant to the cancer patients here, were also better explained by this new development. He hadn't done it for Tony's friends, he'd done it for his late son that might've died even sooner if it weren't for medicines like Vibranin. As for the dressing, he must've similarly taken care of Arno during his illness. This even explained why he'd finally cracked and told Tony he loved him before the VAD surgery. He couldn't bear to lose another son, but if he might he couldn't let it happen without sharing how he really felt. Howard Stark was afraid to love his son because it might ultimately hurt him as it had the first time.

"I'm sorry," Tony stuttered. Yes, he was sorry for Howard's loss of a son, but mostly he apologized for making him endure that kind of pain once again, twenty years later. At first, Tony must have been Howard's chance at a healthy son, one who he didn't have to worry about. But when Tony's heart started to fail, Howard's must have started to ache in the same way it had before.

"You've nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry it had to come to this before you knew about him."

"It's okay."

"Would you like to see a picture?"

"Yeah, of course." His father pulled out his wallet and reached into the furthest recesses of the small picture pocket. The photo in front, the one visible upon opening the wallet, depicted Tony with his winning science fair project from the third grade. His father hadn't event come to the event, nor had he shown much interest when Tony showed off his award. Growing up, nothing he'd ever done was impressive to his father. But this image proved that Howard cared more than he let on. He pulled the picture out from the back of the pocket and handed it to Tony. He took it gingerly, understanding just how important this photo and this moment were to his father.

Arno Stark had dark hair just long enough to endearingly fall into his eyes and a smile that spoke of the interminable happiness possible only in innocent young children. Tony searched his face for resemblance to their shared father, and to himself, and discovered his own brown eyes staring back at him from the photograph. He wondered how long after this photograph was taken Arno had been diagnosed. His father had said the boy died at ten, but how long had he fought before that? He couldn't be older than seven or eight in this picture.

"That was two months before he got sick," Howard said, seemingly reading the question straight from Tony's mind. "He fought for a year and a half, but the cancer proved too much for his little body. And his loss proved too much for my marriage."

"I'm so sorry," Tony repeated, despite knowing the platitude meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. His apology wouldn't change what happened. Nothing could. Nothing would ever bring back Arno, or Pietra, or Carol, or Scott, or any of the countless other people who'd passed away within these walls. Nothing could bring them back. But he could ensure that they were remembered, that they never suffered that second death of the forgotten.

~0~

"You learned some shit, didn't you?" Bucky asked the instant he saw Tony walk into the common room.

"How could you tell?"

"You've got that look about you," Steve chimed in.

"Spill," Thor insisted.

"So, for starters, my dad was married once before he married my mom."

"You didn't know that already? That doesn't seem like something that needs to be a big secret," Bucky remarked.

"It is if he had a kid with that marriage."

"He had another kid the whole time?!" Steve questioned.

"Not exactly. Apparently my half brother died of leukemia when he was ten," Tony sighed, unsure exactly how his friends would react to this news.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said instinctively. "It must be hard to put your entire relationship in a new perspective like that." Damn, of course he knew just how to articulate everything Tony had been feeling since he learned this information.

"Yeah. It is." He sat down on the common room sofa beside Steve, placing his backpack of batteries next to him. "I can't be mad at him anymore for the way he raised me."

"You think you were mad at him before?" Steve asked.

"Steve, you could have the Falcon out of the job in a heartbeat at this rate," Bucky drawled.

"Shut up."

"I don't know, maybe?" Tony said, ignoring Bucky's comment. "I just could never understand what I was doing wrong."

"You weren't your brother," Bucky stated dryly.

"Shut up, Buck," Steve hissed. "Not helpful."

"I'm assuring him that there's nothing he could have done different," he defended.

"Bucky's right," Tony said. "No matter who I was or what I did, I'd always be a reminder of the son that he lost. He told me he was afraid to get attached because of what happened last time."

"So it's...not your...fault," Thor reminded him. After the big seizure, his speech remained slow and forced, as if he had to focus extra hard to move his mouth into the different positions necessary for different syllables.

"No, it's not. But now I feel bad for making him do the whole 'sick kid' gig again."

"Also not your fault," Bucky stated. "None of us wanted to be sick."

"I know it's not my fault, but I still feel guilty."

"Understandably so. I think we've all felt guilty for what our parents go through at one point or another," Steve added. "I certainly have."

"And they feel guilty too because there's nothing they can do to fix us. All they can do is watch and hope we don't die," Bucky added.

"Yeah, I don't know how I would have turned out if I'd been born into a family with a kid fighting cancer. I can't imagine the stress or guilt that comes with that."

"Hela and...Loki have done therapy," Thor said.

"Maybe you should too," Steve remarked.

"It's not quite the same. I never even met him, so why should I worry about it now? He's passed, and I can't change anything."

"His existence affects your father, and therefore it affects you," Bucky stated.

"I guess you're right. But I'm not sure how a conversation with the Falcon or anyone else would really help. I think the best thing would be to talk to my dad, but I have no idea how open to discussion he'll be after that first reveal. For all I know, he might want to go back to never discussing it again."

"Be honest, do you really think that's going to happen? When he finally broke the news to you, did he seem eager to shut up and be done with it? Or did he look relieved to fondly remember his son?" Steve asked.

"He seemed pretty upset, but then he showed me a picture of Arno and that cheered him up a bit."

"Repressing memories like that is never good for a person. I'll bet he's glad he came out to you so Arno can be a part of his life again."

"I guess so," Tony sighed. Part of him wasn't sure how much his life would change if the memory of Arno became a part of it, or if he'd be able to cope with those changes. But he owed it to his father to do his part in preventing Arno's second death, to never forget him. Maybe he'd never met his eternally younger brother, but that didn't mean he couldn't love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you saw that one coming :)
> 
> You thought I'd let you get away with an nice, linear falling action? Yeah...no. I wasn't going to let this story end without one more punch, although this one's been a long time coming. This plotline was inspired by the Marvel comics' Arno Stark. The gist of the story is that Howard enlisted aliens to genetically modify his unborn baby, ultimately rendering him life-support-reliant from birth. He and Maria adopted Tony and raised him as their own to replace Arno. Later, Tony discovers the existence of Arno and they team up to do hero work, so on and so on. Anyway, I've been planting seeds of explanation for Howard's treatment of Tony throughout the story, and I thought this a fitting tie-in to all those clues.


	41. Excelsior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just wow. I can't even find the words to explain what the journey of creating and publishing this story has meant to me. It started as a completely self-indulgent story that I doubted many other people would read. It turns out medical hurt/comfort isn't as niche an interest as I initially thought it was, and boy am I glad that's the case. Often the highlight of my day was looking through and replying to the wonderful comments you all left after the latest chapter. Some of you seem just as excited about this alternate universe as I am, and that's saying something considering I think about this piece most hours of the day.
> 
> To everyone who was there every chapter letting me know their thoughts, to those who only occasionally dropped a comment, and to those who read along silently, THANK YOU. It brings me so much joy to know that my story became a part, however small, of your life. Now, please join me in the fluff-tastic conclusion (well, sort of) of this Gravesen Chronicle :)

Tony received a text from Bruce that he never expected to receive: "Hey Tony. I wanted to tell you this before anyone else. I'm getting discharged tomorrow. Thank you for being a great friend, and I hope we can keep in touch."

Bruce was thanking him? If anything, Tony should be the one pouring out gratitude for his friend. Bruce had been there for him unfailingly even though he had no obligation to be. Of course Tony wanted to keep in touch with him; he dreaded the idea of growing apart from everyone here as they healed and moved on with their lives. He was leagues closer to the friends he'd made here than anyone he knew from his high school or from meeting the kids of his father's associates. In fact, a small part of him didn't ever want to leave.

Tony offered to help Bruce pack. The boy tried to fend him off, but Tony insisted. That afternoon he slung his VAD backpack over his shoulder and followed Bruce's instructions on where to put the little things that had accumulated in the room over the duration of his stay at Gravesen.

"Don't you dare lift anything heavier than you're allowed to," Bruce warned him.

"Relax. Your well-worn paperback copy of the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde clocks in at well below five to eight pounds," Tony chuckled, placing the indicated book in a box.

"I should definitely be trying harder to stop you from performing physical labor, but I could use the help."

"Even with the restrictions I'm twice as useful as Bucky," Tony pointed out. He waved both hands to underline his point.

"That's not nice," Bruce chided, though Tony could tell he stifled a laugh.

"Bucky would have made that joke himself."

"He's allowed to. Self-deprecating humor is one thing, but when you say it about him it's just bullying."

"Okay. Do you want me to go apologize to him for a comment he didn't even hear me make?" he asked half-jokingly.

"No. Just don't do it again."

"Alright. Bruce, has anyone ever told you you're the nicest person they've ever met? Because I doubt I'm the first to do so."

"As a matter of fact, you are the first."

"Really?" Tony didn't believe it. He'd known Bruce for weeks now, and nothing about his personality stood out more than his selflessness and compassion for other people. Was that a persona he only adopted in this hospital, or was he so universally ignored by his peers elsewhere that nobody took the time to see it? Tony took a quick break from moving books into boxes to set his phone to remind him every week to text Bruce to check in and ensure he didn't forget that he had friends who valued and cared about him. He knew this stint came on the heels of Bruce's second suicide attempt, and Tony would never forgive himself if there was a third.

"Yeah, really," Bruce confirmed. He glanced up at Tony and the textbook he'd picked up to pack next. "Hey, put that down!"

Tony acquiesced, though he doubted the book actually exceeded his post-surgical lifting limit. If he hadn't listened, Bruce would have wrested it from his hands. The more important question was why Bruce kept a nuclear physics textbook in his hospital room, so he asked, "Is this pleasure reading, or are you enrolled in an education system beyond the Ancient One's teachings?"

"Says the guy who reads the diary of Leonardo da Vinci," Bruce retorted.

"I'll allow that." Tony smirked. A Bruce who made fun of him was leaps and bounds ahead of the shell of a person he'd met upon arriving here. This Bruce possessed enough confidence in his own decision-making ability to break a promise in order to do what he knew was the right thing. Tony wasn't sure he himself would have the confidence to do that if he ever found himself in a similar situation. "Nuclear physics, huh?"

"Yeah. It's interesting," Bruce explained, putting the book in a box and pointing Tony to a pile of much lighter volumes.

"I've always been more of an engineering kinda guy."

"The world needs both."

"I guess so. Just promise me you won't go on to design bombs for us to drop on other countries. My father does enough of that as it is."

"I don't plan on entering that line of work," Bruce stated. "I'm hoping to do something more practical."

"Good."

"How—how are things with your dad?" he asked hesitantly. "After that whole fiasco with Natasha, you didn't really mention him."

Tony realized Bruce hadn't been there when he shared the whole 'dead brother' revelation. "Things are different," he began, and then went on to explain the whole situation with Arno. Bruce was so engrossed in listening to him that he stopped packing all together. When Tony finished, he blinked as slowly as a person could blink before stammering out a response.

"That's…not what I expected to hear."

"Me neither, believe me."

"I just never stopped worrying about you after you told me so casually that your dad looks at you like you don't deserve to be alive."

"Bruce, I'm sorry I laid that on you. I was so used to it I didn't stop to think about how bad it might seem to someone from a different family. And now I understand that he only acted the way he did because I was a reminder of the son he lost. It's forgivable."

"If you say so." Bruce shrugged and got back to work. They packed in silence for a few minutes, until they were interrupted by Natasha.

"Steve says it is time to adjust gauntlet," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

"Okay. Tell him we'll be right there," Bruce replied. Natasha nodded and darted off, dragging an IV pole with her.

"Didn't she just finish chemo like an hour ago?" Tony asked.

"I think so."

"And she's out and about? Honestly, the resilience of that girl is terrifying."

"No kidding."

They set off for the common room, where everyone was gathered to celebrate Bruce's discharge. A person leaving the hospital was just about the only joyous occasion they had to celebrate. Since the last patient to leave had been un-celebratable because it was paired with such a tragedy, everyone was that much more excited for this time around.

"Bruce!" Steve called eagerly as they approached.

"You must...do the honors," Thor told him, gesturing to the gauntlet on the wall.

"Oh, alright." Bruce stepped shyly forwards and pulled off one of the Xs with a satisfying rip of Velcro. He moved power, space, and reality back from Thanatos's column to his own, but left mind where it stood. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that one yet," he explained. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'll ever be fully there. This isn't something I can ever truly escape from, only something I can prosper in spite of."

"Well said," Parker remarked.

"How about this then?" Thor grabbed the X in the mind column and placed it on the line between Thanatos and self.

Bruce smiled. "I like that."

"I think I speak for all of us when I say I'm going to miss you," Steve began, his tone clearly indicating a whole speech was imminent. "Your constancy kept us sane, and we could always rely on you to be the voice of reason. Though we will certainly be worse off without you here, nothing could make us happier than knowing that you are well enough to be free of this place."

"Now get out your phone," Parker instructed. "Everyone else too, so we can see it happen." Tony grabbed his phone and opened the Gravesen group chat. Everyone crowded around Bruce to watch as he opened the chat information and scrolled down to the stark red letters that read, "Leave this Conversation."

"I can't believe this is really happening," he whispered as his thumb hovered over the button. He tapped it, and Tony glanced at his own phone to see "Bruce Banner left the conversation" pop up in little gray letters. For something so miniscule, it felt important, seeing this proof that Bruce was no longer sick enough to be one of them.

"Consider yourself officially risen from the Grave," Nick chimed in.

"Well, there's still some paperwork to finalize before it's official, but okay."

Many hugs were exchanged, some people whispering more personal goodbyes in Bruce's ear. After they broke up the meeting, Bruce dragged Tony back to his room. He assumed it was to continue packing, but Bruce apparently had something else in mind. "We're taking my daily walk," he explained. Tony followed on the route that had grown familiar to him, too, over the times he'd tagged along in the past. Bruce didn't keep the same regimented pace, instead lingering over certain sights as if trying to memorize them before he left—hopefully forever. When they paused in front of the NICU window, Tony broached a topic he'd been afraid to mention in all the positivity around his discharge.

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified," Bruce replied.

"Of what?"

"Well, it's going to be a major adjustment period. You know how closely I stick to a routine here, I'm going to have to devise an entirely new routine at home."

"That would be daunting for any of us. I don't know when I'll be out of here, but I'll tell you right now that I barely remember how to live a normal life."

"It'll come back to you more quickly than you think," Bruce assured.

"For you too. You'll be back to keeping a schedule by the second in no time."

"Actually, the ultimate goal is for me to be a little more relaxed. The super tight schedule was necessary at first to keep my anxiety from spiraling, but I've started to filter in occasional spontaneity."

"That's fantastic. So if I want to call you to check in after you leave, it doesn't have to be at the same exact time every week?"

Bruce chuckled, "Of course not. Just try and stick to reasonable business hours. And frankly, I prefer texting. It's less nerve-wracking."

"I can't stay up past eleven anymore even if I try," Tony admitted. "Having a machine do all your heart's work for it is surprisingly exhausting."

"I believe it."

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"

"Probably unpack."

"That doesn't count. Tell me the first _meaningful_ thing you're going to do."

"I don't know."

"Surely you can think of something."

"Take a walk through my neighborhood. I don't get outside nearly enough here."

"Now that's a good first thing."

"What's your first thing going to be?"

"I don't know when I'm going home."

"Assume it's sometime in the future."

"As opposed to in the past?"

"As opposed to going home being an impossible eventuality," Bruce clarified. "Because you _will_ go home, Tony."

"I certainly hope so. Let's see…I think the first thing I'd do would be—"

"Don't speak hypothetically."

"Right. We're assuming this is an event in the future, not a hypothetical situation. The first thing I _will_ do," he corrected, "Is sneak into my dad's workshop and start a new project."

"You sneak into your dad's workshop?"

"Technically I'm allowed to use it, so it's not sneaking. I haven't needed supervision since I was eleven or twelve."

"Send me a picture of whatever you design when you do it, okay?"

"Okay."

The next morning, Bruce left. Tony awoke to see him and a woman who must have been his mother carrying boxes out. They'd already said their goodbyes yesterday, so he didn't bother to rouse himself to go see him off. He just watched Bruce smile more than he'd ever seen him smile. Before Tony knew it, they took their last trip and nurses started changing the bedding and cleaning out the room across from his. Room 1218 now _formerly_ belonged to Bruce Banner.

~0~

The next person to receive news of their discharge…was Tony. The word hit him like a defibrillator shock to the chest. He'd been under the impression that he wasn't escaping this place until he got his heart transplant, which still hadn't happened. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

"The VAD is working even better than we expected," Rhodes explained. "You will have to keep up with your meds and maintenance of the device, of course, but I see no reason not to send you home to await transplant."

Home. He'd honestly forgotten what his house looked like, what it felt like to inhabit that place with his parents. The last time he lived there had been a brief period after his diagnosis. Eons ago. That was back when he'd been an average high school kid focused on finding the address of the hottest parties and keeping his grades up so he could get into a good engineering school like MIT. That was before he even knew what cardiomyopathy or ventricular fibrillation were. That was before he met Steve, Parker, Thor, Natasha, Quill, Clint, Bucky, Nick, or Bruce. That was before he knew about his dead half-brother whose battle with cancer ravaged his father to the point where he feared to love his son. The idea of returning there was both the most incredible and the most terrifying thing he could imagine.

"When?" he asked shakily.

"The twenty seventh," Rhodes informed him. That was in two days.

"Do my parents know?"

"Yes. We informed them earlier today. They are understandably excited. Are you excited?"

"Uh…yeah," he managed. He was too stunned by the news to feel much of anything. "It just caught me off guard."

"That's okay. Take your time to process; I know it's been a long time. I'm here if you have any questions, but I suggest you and your parents start packing up your room."

"Okay. Thank you," Tony said before leaving the office and making his way to the common room as if in a trance. Home. He still didn't believe it was really happening. Just a few days ago he'd been talking about home with Bruce like it was still only a possibility for him and not an eventuality.

"I get to go home," he said to the residents assembled in the common room; Steve, Bucky, Parker, and Thor. He made the announcement with less conviction than it deserved, but they reacted as if he'd screamed it through a megaphone.

"No way! That's awesome," Parker exclaimed.

"That's amazing news," Steve added.

"I just found out, and I still can't really believe it's true."

"Well you'd better believe it," Bucky said. "Because it's happening. Unless this is an elaborate prank to get our hopes up that we'll finally be rid of you."

"I wouldn't tantalize you with that," Tony said wryly.

"When do you get outta dodge?" Steve asked.

"Wednesday."

"You'd better start packing," Bucky said.

"I can help," Parker offered.

"Thanks. That'd be great."

Over the next day, Tony and Parker worked together to pack his things away just as Tony had done with Bruce. It was so much different putting away his own things versus someone else's. He rolled up the AC/DC poster and tucked it away. Parker lovingly placed Dum-E and Butterfingers in a suitcase.

"I'm so happy for you," Parker blurted out.

"Thanks," Tony sighed.

"Why do you sound kinda sad? Going home should be a happy occasion."

"I know. I just feel like I don't remember how to live my old life and I'm gonna feel really out of place when I get back there."

"You're not going back to your old life," Parker informed him. "You're continuing your new life in an old place. There's a difference."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just going to be so weird not being here and seeing you all every day."

"You're trying very carefully not to outright say you're going to miss us terribly, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing," Tony admitted. He already felt left out, even though he hadn't pulled himself from the group chat yet. A part of him feared that everyone here would forget about him as soon as he vacated his room on their shared ward.

"We're going to miss you too, Tony," Parker assured. "But be thankful we'll be missing you for all the right reasons. I miss a lot of people every day, and for most of them it's not because they're well enough to leave the hospital."

Tony bit the inside of his cheek to stop whatever had been about to spill out of his mouth. He couldn't say anything to that…could he? The closest thing he had to departed loved ones was a half brother he'd never met. He really hoped Parker wasn't trying to start a conversation on this topic because Tony could not swim in emotional water that deep right now.

"Sorry, that was a little much," Parker said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I'm just relieved that you're not leaving the same way as Carol."

"It's…it's fine," Tony said. He didn't want to think about the possibility that he could still end up like Carol. The VAD wouldn't tide him over for the rest of his life; it awarded him around ten years at most, which should be plenty of time for a donor heart to become available for him. Even that would buy him only ten to fifteen years, which seemed like a lot against the fact he would have died at sixteen without the VAD. But if he did the math—which he had, many times despite knowing it would only serve to sadden him—his total life expectancy came in at around forty years old. Half the national average. It was a morbid thought, but it crossed Tony's mind rather often given the circumstances. But today he forced it out of his consciousness and focused on the fact that he was finally going home.

Just as they had for Bruce, everyone assembled for Tony's hospital discharge rite of passage. He unstuck all of his Xs one by one (except for time, which he now needed to dedicate to taking care of his equipment) and switched them back to the self column. He expected to feel a weight off his shoulders when he stepped back and looked at it, and he was shocked at just how heavy that weight had been. It definitely had more heft than his backpack.

"Are you ready?" Parker asked as everyone pulled out their phones. Tony nodded, though this was the part he was most unsure about. He opened the group chat, clicked the tiny circle in the corner, and scrolled down to the red lettering. Parker closed in on his right shoulder to watch as he slowly and dramatically let his finger drift towards the button. He hesitated for the briefest moment before he tapped on it. Tony turned his head to look at Parker's screen, but what he saw puzzled him.

"Parker, why does yours say 'Iron Man' left the conversation? Is that what I'm in your contacts as?"

"Oh, uh…yeah."

"Why?" Tony asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a wry smile.

"Well, I kinda assumed your VAD was made of some kind of metal, but I didn't know which. So I went through the entire periodic table and picked the one that sounded the best."

"That's adorable," Bucky remarked.

"Shut up," Parker shot back. "I got bored, okay?"

"Okay." Bucky put his hand up in mock surrender.

"Doesn't Steve have to preach his sermon now?" Nick asked.

"That's not what it is," Steve defended. "I just like to give people a proper sendoff."

"Go ahead then, send him off," Quill said. Tony rolled his eyes, though he genuinely wanted to hear what Steve had to say about him.

"Tony, I've stayed here at Gravesen many times over the years and I've met a lot of people. The roster on this ward is constantly changing, and every time I come back there's a new squad for me to get to know. I am not exaggerating when I say that this group of ten we've had for a while is more like a family than any I've ever been a part of. Yes, we knew each other before you got here, but I feel like I didn't start to really _get to know_ everyone until you showed up.

"You're always saying that I'm the natural leader here, but every time you told me that all I could think about was how the title applies to you so much better. I know I'm not the only one here who has turned to you in a time of crisis and benefited from whatever comfort and advice you had to offer. With you around, I feel like we really look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And it's been an honor fighting by your side."

The tears welled up before Tony had any hope of stopping them. Steve embraced him first. And then, instead of waiting their turn, everyone else just piled on until they created one massive Gravesen group hug.

~0~

The boxes of his things had already been loaded by employees of his father. Paperwork and everything was signed and dated. His room sat as empty and barren as it had been on the day he moved in. All that remained was to walk out the doors. "Are you ready?" his mother asked, her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder. He nodded hesitantly, taking one last look down the hallway.

"Wait!" he recognized Steve's voice as his door opened and he dashed out to stand in front of them. "I have something for you." He handed Tony a folded piece of paper. Tony looked at him questioningly, wondering if he should open it now or wait. Steve gestured for him to unfold it now. Tony recognized the sketch he'd been working on earlier, of the two of them together, depicted not magically healed but with all of their imperfections on full display. He'd finalized it, corrected any errant lines and shaded it to perfection. Tony didn't know what to say.

"Thank you," he exhaled.

"You're welcome," Steve said with a smile. The two embraced one last time before Tony and his mother set off. She told him once again that Howard was busy working and couldn't make it. Tony was disappointed; he'd thought the days of his father avoiding him were over, but evidently he was wrong. They took the elevator back down to the main level and headed for the front door. Tony did a double take when he recognized who stood in the middle of the atrium. His father.

"You lied," he quipped to his mother.

"He wanted to surprise you," she countered. As they neared, Howard opened his arms and Tony accepted the paternal hug he didn't realize he'd always wanted until now.

"I love you," Howard whispered in his ear. "I'm not afraid to say it anymore."

"I love you too," Tony said.

Another familiar figure wandered into Tony's peripheral vision. He pulled back from his father's embrace and turned to look at Dr. Lee. The president of the hospital looked at him with a warm, knowing smile and said with a nod, "Excelsior."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Wow, what a trip this has been. I can't believe it's over...except it's not really over. Not. Even. Close. As you know, the prequels are coming! Between all of them, there's enough content to equal a story the same size as this one. Maybe even bigger. But, there's another project I've been working on this entire time that I think you'll be equally excited for. I call it: After Gravesen.
> 
> Can you guess what that means? Do I hear sequel? Correct! It's a sequel. Once we've gone back in time to discover how our characters got to Gravesen, we're going to jump back to this point in time and see where they go from here. Because they have so much more life to live that I want to explore, and I think maybe you'll be eager to explore with me. Until then, THANK YOU. I can't stress that enough. If you want to be notified when I post a new story, follow/subscribe to me as a user. I won't be posting any content except Gravesen stories for quite a while. See you on Plokhaya Krov, to be posted a week from today!


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